Chuck vs A New Day
by WillieGarvin
Summary: A/U story. What if Chuck and Sarah were a couple from the very beginning? How would that change the evolution of the stories? Here's my take on answering those questions. This story is, internally, broken up into arcs which (sort of, mostly) conform to episodes of the show. There's a rough table of contents on my profile page. Reading them in order is suggested.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I read First Dates and One Night Stands by Argo0 and really liked it. Unfortunately for us, Argo0 decided to stop contributing to Chuck stories on this site with that story. I do recommend the story, provided you are (a) over 18, and (b) good with reading explicit Charah sex. If you don't care to read that story, no worries. It won't take too long to catch up here. Argo0's story launched an idea that I've been playing with for a few weeks now. I'm somewhat squeamish about writing "M" rated scenes myself, so my story will be "T" not "M". I tried to follow that story's canon (rather than the established canon) in terms of who knows what when.

I attempted to get Argo0's blessing to this continuation of what he/she started, but didn't hear back. Argo0, if you are reading this and are pissed off at what I did with your idea, sorry.

Needless to say, this is AU. It's also my first Chuck submission intended to be multi-chapter from the start (so let's see how that goes).

And seriously, if I owned Chuck the series wouldn't have had that ending. Or there'd be a movie or something.

I have little patience for "will they or won't they". They did. And they are. A lot.

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Smiling, Sarah laid her head on Chuck's chest and tried to catch her breath. He was no better, both of them breathing like runners at the end of a race. She smiled to herself, well they'd certainly crossed the finish line and done so together. Planting a kiss on his chest, tasting a little salt from his sweat, she said, "Good morning, Mr. Bartowski."

"Good morning, Ms. Walker. That was way better than an alarm clock."

"Ummmm, yes, it was. But I hate alarm clocks, so that's a pretty low bar." She gave a small laugh. Her face quickly grew somber, thinking of what she had to do next.

She sat up in the bed and crossed her legs to sit next to him, Indian style. "Chuck," she said, "I need you to call in sick to work today."

"Sarah, I really, really want to do that. Like, a lot, but I can't. I have a job. I have to be responsible and stuff. Could we..." He saw the look on her face. "What's wrong? You suddenly look seriously serious."

"We have to talk."

"Are you mad at me? You look like you're mad." The sudden trepidation in his puppy-dog eyes affected her immediately. She felt a surprising urge to comfort him.

"No, not mad and it's not just so I can keep you in my bed longer. It's a serious talk and I don't want you worried about going to work."

"OK, but you're scaring me."

"Don't worry, Chuck. Just call in sick. Please."

He bent over without getting off the bed and found his phone on the floor. He left a message for someone called Big Mike.

"Ok, Sarah. Done. If this is a serious talk can you …" he gestured with a waving finger at her body. "You know, cover up or something? There is zero chance I can have a serious talk while looking at you."

Grinning, she said, "Sure." She reached behind her and felt around on the floor until she found his shirt. She pulled it on. He liked that a lot. This incredibly beautiful woman was wearing nothing but his shirt. It was symbolic of a level of intimacy that was unexpected, but then again, everything about this situation was unexpected. He was sure that last night was the single greatest night of his life - and now this was the best morning. That made him even more scared that the upcoming serious conversation was going mess it all up.

As she pulled his shirt around herself, she grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up to his waist. "Turnabout. I'm as likely to get distracted as you are," she said with a smile.

"So, what' s going on, Sarah?"

"Ok, Chuck. So first of all, don't freak out."

"Why do people always say that when they are going to tell me something that will freak me out?"

"Chuck, tell me about Bryce Larkin."

"Bryce? What? How do you know Bryce?" Chuck's surprise and confusion were written all over his face.

"Me second. You first. Please."

"Ok. I guess. Bryce was my roommate and best friend at Stanford. Then he turned me in for cheating on a test I didn't cheat on. I was...I was..." He looked down and away from her, clearly embarrassed. "I was thrown out of school. Expelled. So, my girlfriend Jill broke up with me and Bryce started to sleep with her. Kind of adding insult to injury. So...I guess you could say Bryce Larkin in just about my least favorite guy ever. How do you know Bryce?"

Ignoring his question, Sarah said, "What did he do after school?"

"He became an accountant. Working for one of the big firms. But seriously, how do you know him?"

"Have you been in touch with him?"

"No," said Chuck. "No surprise there. Not like we're going to exchange Christmas cards or anything. I really ...email."

"What?"

"He sent me an email a few days ago. On my birthday. Out of the blue." He paused, his brow wrinkling. "Weird."

"Tell me about the email, Chuck."

"Why?," he seemed a little distracted.

"Please"

"It had a code to open it. A question from an old game we used to play in school. And then just a bunch of pictures. A lot of pictures. Like random ones. It was pretty weird."

"And you looked at the pictures?"

"Yeah. So, when do I get to find out why you are interested in Bryce?"

"Chuck, Bryce is dead."

"What? No. What do you mean? How?"

"He was shot and killed three nights ago."

Chuck's face fell, "Oh no. That's terrible. Oh, no."

"I thought you didn't like him?" asked Sarah.

"I don't. I didn't, but I don't want him dead. That's terrible. Man, that's terrible." Wow, thought Sarah. Chuck reacts this way to the death of someone he didn't even like; this man has a really big heart. "Was it a robbery or something?"

"Chuck, Bryce wasn't an accountant. Bryce was a CIA agent. Like me."

His expression of surprise was almost comical. She kept her gentle hand on his arm to steady him as he tried to process what he had just heard.

"Bryce was...you are...God...Wow...CIA...Um, ok. CIA. Bryce." Chuck uncharacteristically went silent and just looked at her. After a while, he said, "Ok."

"Up until recently, I was his partner."

"And girlfriend," said Chuck. It was not a question.

She frowned at him and said, "Why would you say that?"

Chuck noticed she didn't deny it. "Sarah, you and I have just met. I really don't know you very well at all. But I really do know Bryce. Knew. He would take one look at you and make it his business to get you into bed. And, Sarah, Bryce was really, really good at getting girls into his bed. Anyway, you told me so last night. You just changed his name to Bruce."

"Maybe my ex's name really is Bruce," she said.

Chuck just gave her a look that basically said, Oh, please.

"Fine," she said. "Yes, we had a relationship. It ended six months ago." She said, "Six months ago, he went rogue. He disappeared and, we believe, began to work for the bad guys." Chuck let out a noisy breath. Sarah continued, "Three nights ago, he resurfaced. He broke into a secret government facility and stole a database. Then he blew up the facility. He was killed on the way out. Chuck, the last thing he did before he died was to email you the stolen database."

"What? No, no, no. Sarah, I swear I didn't …." He began to freak out.

"I know. I know. Calm down. I know you had nothing to do with it. Calm down, Chuck. I believe you. We believe you."

"And you were sent here to …"

"Find out if you were involved in whatever scheme Bryce had going."

"But why did you lie to me? Why couldn't you just ask me?"

"Think about it, Chuck. You are a good, honest guy. What if you weren't? What if you were a bad guy? How far would I get just walking up to you and saying, 'hey there, are you in league with a renegade CIA agent to steal government secrets?' Think that would have worked?"

"No. You're right. Of course not. I see...so this," he gestured at the bed and both of them, "this is..."

"NO," the vehemence of her answer startled them both. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She took his hand in hers. "No," she said in a quieter tone. "Chuck, I made my decision midway through dinner last night. I knew you had nothing to do with stealing those secrets. I knew you were just what you seemed. A nice guy who used to know Bryce. As far as I was concerned everything after that ...well...I was off the clock. I was on my own time out on a date with a nice guy. I could have walked out in the middle of dinner and still completed my mission and made my boss happy. Everything else, everything after that, was real. Is real."

His smile at that was so genuine and sincere that it seemed to her to light up the room. "Chuck, I expected I would be leaving for DC today. No second date. And I really like you. I didn't want you to look back on the date and think...well, to think that I didn't have a good time. Or I wouldn't want to go out with you again or something. I wanted you to remember the date...to remember me... and smile. That's why I brought you here last night."

"Well, I really like you too, Sarah." He had a goofy expression on his face. Like he couldn't quite believe want was going on. "And I'm really happy that you like me back."

"Chuck, you are a nice guy. Do you have any idea how many nice guys I meet? Here, let me give you a hint. Zero. Zero nice guys. All the guys I meet are arrogant superspy types like Bryce or bad guys, arms dealers, terrorists, tyrants, and other assorted douchenozzles. A nice guy is a really rare thing for me. I think I kind of like it. Not to mention...well," she looked a tiny bit shy, and glanced at him under her lashes, "that was the best sex I've ever had."

"What? It was? Really?"

She gave him a happy, toothy grin. "Really. And I know you are way too much of a gentleman to ask, so I'm just going to tell you. You are way, way better in the sack than Bryce ever was on his best day."

"Really?" She didn't think his grin could be any bigger without hurting his face.

"Yup," She said, popping the "p". "And to think that Stanford Jill broke up with you to sleep with him. Huh. So, in addition to being a cold-hearted bitch she's also a freaking moron. You know, I'd like to meet her one day, I think."

"Why?," asked Chuck.

"I think it might be kind of fun to beat her up. Yeah, definitely. It would be fun."

"Wait, you were the ninja who broke into my apartment to steal my computer."

"Yeah, I was. That didn't work out to well. The hard drive got trashed."

He smiled and said, "It's ok. It was worth it."

"It was?"

"Yeah. The way I figure it, if you had gotten the hard drive you might not have needed to talk to me. And if you didn't need to talk to me, we would never have gotten here."

"I like the way you think, Mr. Bartowski." She leaned forward to kiss him.

"So, what now?"

"Well, when I woke up this morning, I had a plan in my head. You were cuddling me as we were sleeping. It felt so nice...I decided, to hell with one-night stands. I wanted to keep in touch with you. I would have to leave to go back to DC, but I could call you. Skype... Facetime...I don't know. Maybe see you when I get a break or something. Between missions. Maybe meet in Chicago...I don't know...it was all a little ...I totally suck at relationships and I can't even imagine a long distance relationship. I know it sounds vague."

"Vague is ok," he said.

"Well, vague might not be necessary. I don't know yet. Before I came back to bed this morning I had a phone call with my boss. Turns out the database that was stolen was some kind of new set up. The information can be downloaded directly into people's brains through images. They need to know if that happened to you, and from what you told me, it sounds like it did."

"In my head? That's crazy. Professor Fleming at Stanford was working on something like that, but it was preliminary. I have been getting flashes of information sort of randomly, though. Why would Bryce send this to me?"

"I don't know. We may never know at this point, I guess. The Government is going to want to talk to you. Have some experts examine you. If it is in your head, my boss said you will be a National Security asset. Every asset needs a handler and he wants me to be your handler. He also specifically told me not to tell you any of this."

"Then why...?"

"Because I'm not going to lie to you. You are too good a guy. I can lie to bad guys all day long, but I'm not going to lie to you. Not because of this," she gestured at the bed, "but just in general. You are just an innocent bystander in this rogue spy nonsense. If we have to drag you around to experts and stuff, you should at least know what is what."

"Thank you, Sarah. I won't tell anyone what you told me. Thank you. So, asset and handler?"

"Yes," she said with a smile.

He saw her smile and figured that it was good, "Sarah, I guess that's a good thing, but I really don't understand what it means."

"Well, it means I won't be leaving LA anytime soon. I think that's a pretty good thing right about now."

"So we can ...I guess, have a...second date?"

"Well, I wasn't kidding that I have a ton of baggage. And I really do suck at relationships, so I think it's a little early to go shopping for an engagement ring, but yeah. We could start something and see where it leads us. If you want to, of course."

For once, Chuck didn't say a word. He reached out and took her in his arms. He kissed her long and hard. She found her engine revving once again and had to catch her breath. He pulled back a little and held her, forehead to forehead. He whispered, "Yeah, I want to, Sarah."

She whispered back, "Me too."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Between the posting of the first chapter and this one, I heard back from Argo0 and received his/her blessing for what I'm doing with the idea he/she first presented to us. Thanks, Argo0. Hope you like what I've done and am doing with it.

I am in awe of you guys/gals who can write and post so fast. It seems to take me weeks to get a chapter done. I'm following stories here that are dropping a chapter a day (*cough* Zettel, David Carner, Steampunk Chuckster *cough*). And you have day jobs, I mean, I know some of you do, at least. You folks are amazing. Hat's off to you all.

If you think I own Chuck, you probably also think that this is all market research to see what fans will like in a Chuck movie. Please, don't be too disappointed.

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"Make a note, showering together does not, in fact, save time," said Sarah, pulling into the parking lot of a completely unimpressive office building in an office park filled with unimpressive office buildings.

"So noted...was fun, though," said Chuck grinning.

"Really fun," she replied with a grin of her own.

"If we're late, blame LA traffic."

"Works every time."

Parking, Sarah looked around the parking lot and made a 'hmmm' noise.

"What is it?" asked Chuck.

"The lot is full. That's unusual."

"Something to do with why your boss sent us here instead of the safe house, maybe?"

"Maybe," said Sarah.

The building had a normal lobby, but once the normal security guard had let them through the normal door in back of the normal lobby, all semblance of normalcy disappeared. There was another, much stricter security check with heavily armed guards which they made it through with Sarah's credentials. He got a visitor's badge to wear around his neck and a stern warning about what would happen if he didn't.

Chuck looked around like Dorothy in Oz. Oh, my God, I'm in a CIA headquarters, he thought. All these people were CIA agents...spies. Oh, wow. Sarah would have been charmed by his innocent wonder at everything, but all her antennae were vibrating. Men and women were rushing about with a crisis air. Several of them glanced at Sarah and Chuck, but quickly moved on. Nobody looked at all happy. Something big was clearly up.

Sarah found an empty conference room and said, "Chuck, stay here while I figure out what's happening. I'll come back as soon as I can...OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sarah. You go ahead. I'll just wait here. Don't worry about me." He gave her a goofy grin and a thumbs up.

She left. As soon as the door closed, he freaked out. He had managed to hold it together in front of her, but not now.

What the hell was happening? He had a database in his head and was sitting in CIA headquarters Los Angeles. What the hell does that even mean "a database in his head"? From the pictures he'd seen? Why had Bryce done this to him? Was he stuck with this weird info flashing thing? When would it run its course? When would the last of the info finally be revealed? Can he get this thing out? If it went in, there must be a way to get it out, right?

He was just Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herd desk guy. He fixes computers. Maybe he'll apply for the position of assistant manager at the Buy More, but maybe he's not ready for it. One thing he knows for sure for sure is that he doesn't belong here, with these people, with Sarah. She is so far out of his league it's crazy. These people were spies, secret agents, James Bond, Jane Bond. Not Chuck Bartowski.

A database in his head? How is it possible that he knew all this stuff? He stopped himself. He didn't know. Not really know as in _know_. The information was merely ...stored ...in his head. It seemed to pop out randomly as he saw something or someone. Only then could it be called "knowing". He was no more than a hard drive with legs, but without any sort of index. That was really messed up. The idea of this stuff in his head scared him. What if it hurt his brain? Not that he was really using his brain for anything much lately, but still, he was rather attached to it.

He tried taking deep breaths, but thought he was hyperventilating. He moved restlessly and ceaselessly around the small room, touching things randomly, fidgeting and talking to himself.

He trusted Sarah and believed her when she told him that what they had was real, but that didn't mean he belonged in this world, in her world. He was willing to bet not one of these people had been expelled from their schools for any reason, much less cheating on a test they hadn't cheated on. Goddamn Bryce..God, sorry. He's dead. Stop thinking like that.

With nothing else to occupy him and hoping for a distraction, Chuck sat down at the table, picked up the remote control and turned on the wall mounted TV. It defaulted to an all-news channel. They were reporting on a bombing. Baghdad or Kabul?, thought Chuck. Moments later, he realized to his shock that it was, in fact, Los Angeles. There was an aerial shot of the hotel where the bomb went off. Chuck flashed. _Blueprints of the hotel. Schematics for the bomb._ He added that to the flash he'd had the day before of the Serbian demolitions expert. Oh, my God. That Serbian guy had planted the bomb. The TV announced 30 people dead, including NATO General Stanfield, and over 60 wounded. Terrible. They were calling it the worst act of terrorism on US soil since 9-11. Oh, no. Oh, no. This is what the database was about. Oh God.

Chuck looked out the door of the conference room, but didn't see Sarah. He took out his phone and quickly texted her, his hands shaking so badly that he had to slow down and concentrate to do it correctly.

 **MUST TALK TO YOU. NOW.**

Shortly afterwards, he received. **HOLD TIGHT. BUSY HERE. BE THERE WHEN I CAN.**

He responded, **NOW, PLEASE. TRUST ME.**

All those people killed. Their wives and husbands. Kids left behind. As he thought about them, his heart broke for the loss and shattered lives. How could one human being do that to another, to a room full? He felt tears welling up in his eyes. A rare hatred rose within him for Andric. If only he'd known yesterday. If only he'd flashed then. Damn.

A few minutes later Sarah opened the door looking a little frantic and a little annoyed. "Chuck, I really can't talk now. Al Queda bombed an LA hotel."

"It wasn't Al Queda. It was a Serbian bombmaker named Vuc Andric," he sounded breathless and a little crazed. He was sure he looked it. As hard as he had tried to hold it together in front of her before, it was useless now.

"Chuck, what are you saying? How do you know this?"

"Sarah, after the email I knew things about Stanfield's security that I had no reason to know. Like..like...I knew he had come in the night before his announced arrival. Yesterday, at the Large Mart I saw this Andric guy and flashed on him. I thought I was losing my mind. At the time, I had no idea that Bryce had put information in my head. Last night I flashed on Stanfield and his schedule when we were walking to the dance club. Just now, when I saw a picture of the hotel on TV, I flashed again," he spoke faster and faster, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. "This time to blueprints of the hotel which were intercepted by the NSA last week. And bomb plans which were captured by the CIA in Prague. It fits, Sarah. And don't the Serbs hate NATO for bombing Belgrade a few years ago?"

She began to move towards the door. "You're right. It makes sense. Damn. I've got to tell them. We're looking in the wrong places."

"Sarah, I can't tell how I know. Right? You told me that you weren't supposed to tell me about the pictures. I'm not supposed to know that I have this information in my head."

"Yeah. I forgot. Right. I'll get Major Casey, from the NSA. He's the agent we were supposed to meet at the safe house and he's here too. He's briefed on what Bryce did, so he knows about you. We'll tell him that I just briefed you now, after this latest flash. Go ahead and look as freaked out as you want. I'll be right back."

She turned back to the door, but stopped with her hand on the handle. Stepping over to Chuck, she gave him a quick kiss and said, "Good job, Chuck". Then she was gone.

He texted Ellie, **R U OK?**

Moments later she responded, **OK. D AND I WORKED ALL NIGHT. U OK?**

He texted, **OK. BAD?**

She responded, **REALLY BAD. GOTTA GO.**

Chuck texted, **STAY SAFE. LUV U**

She responded, **U 2**

Next he exchanged texts with Morgan, who was also ok.

He had just finished when Sarah and a large man burst into the room. The man was stern-faced and angry. "This is Major John Casey of the NSA. Casey, this is Chuck Bartowski." Chuck wondered if Casey was angry with him, although he couldn't see why.

They shook hands. OK, thought Chuck, hold it together, for God's sake. Now it matters. "Chuck, tell Casey what you told me."

"Major, Sarah tells me that you know what Bryce Larkin did. Did to me. How I have stuff in my head." Casey grunted in the affirmative. "Well, this stuff sort of pops out randomly. It's triggered by something I might see and otherwise it's like I have no access to it. It just sits back there until a flash of info hits me."

"Get on with it," growled Casey.

"Yesterday in Burbank I flashed on a Serbian bomb maker named Vuc Andric in the Large Mart. Just now, when I saw the hotel on TV I flashed again and saw that the NSA had intercepted blueprints of the hotel and the CIA had gotten the plans for the bomb. I thought I was losing my mind until Sarah explained to me about the email, Bryce's email to me."

"Well," said Casey to Sarah, "this is the first lead we have."

"I agree," said Sarah. "Let's get started on the surveillance tapes from the hotel. If this really is the guy, maybe Chuck can spot him. Let's see what we have on the SOB."

Casey grunted, "Makes sense." They walked over to a computer terminal in the corner of the conference room and booted it up. Sarah signed on and pulled up the file on Andric.

Chuck said, "Yeah, that's the guy I saw yesterday" as the picture came up on screen. "He still looks like that. Didn't grow a beard or anything. He was wearing a black tee shirt and a black leather jacket. Hadn't shaved for a little while. You know, stubble."

They scanned the files. "What a charmer," growled Casey. "Active war criminal. Massacres. Bombed a school. I'd love to meet him over my gunsights one day."

"You and me both, Casey," said Sarah. "Ok, let's get Chuck in front of the hotel's tapes. Come on Chuck."

"Hold on, Walker. This kid's downloaded database is need to know. Everybody out there, they're going to ask who this guy is."

"You're right. How about Special Agent..."

"Carmicheal?" asked Chuck. They both looked at him questioningly.

"It's a fantasy name I once picked for myself. When your name is Bartowski, you tend to do that."

A grunt from Casey, "Sure, whatever. Carmicheal."

"Come with us, Special Agent Carmicheal," said Sarah with a small smile.

Down a long corridor they walked into a large room filled with people and computer monitors. Huge flat screens dominated the front of the room and men and women sat before terminals frenetically typing and studying the monitors. Some were talking into microphones attached to headsets.

"Listen up, people," bellowed Casey.

Sarah took over as the CIA officer in a CIA facility. She typed on a terminal and pushed a button. Andric's face showed up on one of the wall displays. "This is Vuc Andric. Wanted Serbian bomber and war criminal. Pull up the surveillance tapes from the hotel before the bombing. We are looking for him. If any of you spots somebody you think is him, you bring it to Agent Carmicheal here. He can confirm or deny. Questions?" There were none.

It took about 15 minutes. Chuck was called over to several monitors to look at possible matches. He had looked at 6 young men on the tapes before picking out Andric in a waiter's uniform wheeling a serving cart into the ballroom.

"Son of a bitch," said Casey.

"Right," said Sarah, in a voice that carried to the far corners of the large room. "We have a target. You know what to do. Live feed. Airports, train stations, bus depots, toll booths on bridges and tunnels, traffic cams, everything. And I do mean everything. This son of a bitch attacked us. We will get him. Get every agency on it. All points. I want every law enforcement officer in the country looking for him. He may still be in LA, but we don't know that yet. Put all the pictures we have of him into the automated algorithm. The computers will scan the feeds for his face. Questions?"

A hand raised. "Do we release to the press? Initiate a BOLO?"

Chuck leaned closer to Casey who said, before Chuck could ask, "Be On the LookOut."

"Humm"

"Not yet," said Sarah. "Going public is a next step. I don't want him panicked and going to ground. Right now, all the press is focused on Al Queda, so he thinks he's safe. Let's leave it that way for the time being. If there are no more questions...right. Get to work, guys."

Chuck thought Sarah was awesome – professional, commanding, smart, hyper-focused. She was incredibly beautiful, but she was so much more than that. From the looks she was receiving from the assembled team, they agreed. But he also noticed something else, a very little thing, but from a few of the people at the monitors, he saw a bit of fear. He thought that was pretty strange.

She stopped by Casey and Chuck and said, "I have to brief my boss. Want to come, Casey?" He grunted in the affirmative. "Chuck, this part of it is going to take a while. Can you find your way back to that conference room?"

"No problem. I'll be fine."

Chuck went back to the conference room. Seeing that the computer in the corner was still active, he sat down to it. What's an "asset"?, he wondered.

A few hours later, Casey burst into the room. "We found him!"

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A/N2: Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to review my stuff. It makes this whole thing so much more fun than I had expected. I do try to PM every reviewer, and if I missed you for some reason, sorry. Also, for those of you reviewers who are Guests or otherwise have your settings established so that I cannot PM you, some of you have some really interesting points and I do appreciate you sharing them with me.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks to all of you who have followed this far. I promise that in this chapter...well, stuff happens.

If you think I own Chuck, you should seek some professional help. Nothing major, just a tune up.

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Casey opened the door to the conference room. The kid was sitting by the computer along one wall. "We found him!"

Bartowski looked up. "Yes," he cheered. "Where?"

"Union Station. Waiting for a train. We're going to get him. You're coming with...you saw him in person only yesterday. Come on."

"What train is he getting on?," asked Chuck.

"Who cares? We froze all trains leaving the station. They'll announce signal trouble." They were jogging down the corridor towards a rear exit to the building.

Thirty or so agents were putting on tactical gear. Sarah was along one side giving orders. When she saw them she turned to an agent next to her and ordered, "Get Carmichael a vest and an earwig." The agent scurried off.

Chuck said, "Why so many?"

Casey responded, "Big deal. Everyone wants in on it." He made a face showing his distaste.

Casey made sure Bartowski had the gear and knew how to put it on and use it. Then the time came to load up. He took the kid into the back of his van. Walker was in a different van, but he noticed her checking back on Bartowski. Casey gave her a nod to let her know that he would take care of the kid. He reminded himself to call him Carmichael mentally, or he'd certainly screw up and call him by his real name in front of people he shouldn't.

Sirens screaming, they blasted through Los Angeles traffic and were at Union Station shortly. The building was built in a style called Mission Moderne, somewhat reminiscent of old Spanish Colonial with a mix of Art Deco. Casey hoped there wouldn't be a shoot out there. Piling out of the van and assembling the teams of agents from the other vans, including Walker, they ran inside. Now that they were tactically deployed, Casey took command, having led Marines in combat, he was clearly the most qualified.

Slowing to a stop before the waiting room, Casey motioned for Bartowski to come forward. The kid looked pretty scared. Well, Casey was used to that. He'd led a lot of young Marines into combat and knew the look. Usually training took care of the potential for screw ups, but Bartowski had no training. He'd have to be watched.

"See him?"

"No. Not from here." The waiting room was 140 feet long and 80 feet wide with 62 foot high ceilings. It was covered in travertine marble and terra cotta floors. The windows flanking the room were 40 feet high and sunlight was streaming in. In this beautiful historic room there were hundreds people, bags, baby strollers, and kids running away from their frantic parents. With all trains stopped, more people kept coming in, and none leaving. Chuck couldn't see all of them from where he was standing, certainly not their faces. "Let me go in there, Casey. Let me go look for him." By this point Walker had joined them at the head of the collection of agents.

"No, it's too risky," she said. "You stay here and I'll go forward." She began to shrug off her vest and other tactical gear.

"Sarah, I can do this. It's why you brought me. I don't have to fight Andric, just walk past him and say, 'black jacket, third row on the left', or whatever. I can do this. Please. I really want to help stop this guy. Please."

"He's right, Walker. It's a simple recon. He's had the most recent 'eyes on'. If you're nervous about it, go with him. You two can stroll around the waiting room together until you spot Andric," said Casey.

She thought about it for a moment and said, "OK. Let's do it."

Bartowski shrugged out of his vest. Walker took his arm and they moved into the crowded room. Casey listened through his earwig.

Sarah said, "Just relax, Chuck. We're just a couple waiting for the train. No big deal."

"No big deal," repeated Bartowski. "Just a couple strolling around the waiting room. Waiting for our train. Waiting to spot our train. Hey, you ever see the movie Trainspotting? Just waiting...there he is."

Walker's voice cut in, "Green shirt, black leather jacket, Dodger's baseball cap, large black duffel at his feet, phone in his hand, eyes down. Right hand row. Three quarters of the way down towards the eastern entrance. Facing north."

Casey had to admit that he was impressed with Walker. She was very professional, smart, and cool and she was handling Bartowski flawlessly. Her reputation as a merciless killer was no doubt earned, but she obviously had other skills in addition. He wondered if the stone cold assassin demeanor was the act or the more human young woman she was showing Bartowski was the act.

"Right," Casey began to give commands to his teams. "Team Alpha, leave the building and loop around to the eastern entrance. Team Beta..." Something was happening to Bartowski. His face, his eyes, something.

Bartowski's voice cut in, "No, Casey. No. Andric isn't alone. There are others here with him. I just fl..recognized them." Casey noticed that Bartowski had stopped himself from saying 'flashed', a heads-up bit of operational security. The kid was ok.

"Ok, Casey. Chuck and I will make a complete circuit and call out any more people he recognizes."

Bartowski spoke again, "Casey, there's no guaranty that I will recognize all the bad guys. Some of them...I might not have seen before."

"Understood, Carmichael, and roger that," said Casey.

Walker and Bartowski walked around the entire waiting room, a large space. In total there were seven Serbian militiamen including Andric spread out in ones and twos. Once they were identified and located, Casey once again began to deploy his teams, when Bartowski interrupted him. "Give me a second, Casey. I want to check the men's room."

"Good idea. Do it." Kid has a good head on his shoulders, thought Casey. Glad we brought him.

Leaving Walker alone for a minute, he entered the men's room and came back out again in a moment. "Clear," he said.

The teams were deployed and Casey gave the countdown. Casey heard them all acknowledge that they were in position and said, "on three...one...two...THREE."

Thirty men and women rushed into the waiting area and jammed large guns into the faces or heads of all of the targets, screaming for them not to move. Innocent people waiting for the trains screamed and ran away. Some of the cooler heads took out their cell phones and began to make recordings of the events. Many just stood in stunned shock at the sudden armed chaos around them.

Andric had Walker's Smith & Wesson 5906 in his face and Casey's SIG Sauer P229 at the back of his head. Still holding his phone, he looked up and smiled a thoroughly frightening smile. There was a little violence off to the side as a couple of their targets resisted arrest, but not Andric. He just smiled. Walker holstered her weapon and moved to put zip ties on the man.

Suddenly, Bartowski rushed at Casey and tackled him, knocking him off balance. As the word, "Wha.." was forming on his lips, Casey felt the searing blast of a point blank shot passing within millimeters of the back of his head. Only then did he hear the loud gunshot. If Bartowski hadn't tackled him, the bullet would have blown his head off. Both men tumbled to the floor in a tangle.

Casey looked up and saw a stocky brunette woman with a Glock 9mm standing over him. She had approached him from directly behind. As she shifted the aim to follow him and Bartowski to the ground she found herself engulfed in a blonde hurricane of violence. Walker leaped over Andric and the bench and her booted foot kicked the Glock from the other woman's hand. As the brunette drew back to fight Walker, she was hit three times, left, right, left, every shot looked hard and punishing. She was a tough customer, though, and swung at Walker catching her on the jaw with a left hook. Walker shook it off and spun in with a roundhouse kick, staggering the brunette back. Walker took a sliding leap and launched a side kick that actually caused the brunette to take air as she flew backwards to crash against the wall and crumble to the ground. She didn't move any more.

Casey and Bartowski locked eyes with each other for a second. Bartowski said, in an awed voice, "Wow." Casey grunted in the affirmative.

Walker vaulted over the bench and went back to restraining Andric. He held up his phone, which, they now realized, was connected by a cable to the large duffel at his feet. "Doesn't matter," he said. The face of the phone showed a count down. 2:45...2:44...2:43.

"What did you do?" asked Walker, strain evident in her voice.

"I killed myself. And all of you too. Just like the women and children of Belgrade, there's nothing you can do."

Casey, now on the same side of the bench as Walker, reached for the duffel and carefully and slowly unzipped it, careful not to disturb it any more than absolutely necessary.

2:33

Peering int the bag, Casey saw that it was filled with orange blocks of C-4 explosive, enough to bring down the building.

2:20

"The tech guys say that he used a laptop as the trigger for the hotel bomb. The cell phone fits his style," said Casey.

Walker said, "No time to evacuate the building."

"Get the bomb outside?" suggested Casey.

2:01

"Yes," said Andric, who had been hustled out of the way by burly agents, leaving the phone on the bench. "Move it. Or disconnect the phone. All good ideas. " He laughed mirthlessly. "There's a tremblor switch, you idiots. If you move it, boom. And if the signal from the phone is interrupted for any reason, boom. And when the countdown gets to zero, boom. You can do nothing now but pray that God will have mercy on your worthless souls."

1:49

Bartowski, who had been standing there frozen, looked terrified. Despite that, he stepped forward, towards the bomb. He spoke up. "I have an idea. Let me look at the phone."

Casey said, "This isn't an x-box, kid. And you're not an X-man."

"I know, Casey, but we sell these at the Buy More. I repair these phones. Let me try. Please. I can do this."

Casey and Walker locked eyes and the message was the same, we have nothing to lose. "It's our best shot," said Walker.

Bartowski, straddled the bomb and sat in Andric's old seat. Casey moved to hand him the phone, but Bartowski said, "No, please. Hold it up just there," he motioned with his hands. "And don't let the cable disconnect. If it does...well, that' s bad." Casey put one hand on the phone and the other on the cable They wouldn't move an iota, as his hands locked onto them like steel vices.

1:09

"Anybody got a knife?" asked Bartowski.

Someone handed him a multitool. "Multitool. Excellent," said Bartowski.

He took out the knife and pried the back off the phone, dropping it on the floor.

"Sarah, can you call out the countdown, please, as the numbers change?"

"51," said Walker, her voice steady. Casey was more than impressed by her cool. They had less than a minute to live, and she was totally focused on her job.

"50," said Walker.

The kid switched the knife out and took out the screwdriver. He was talking to himself softly, "Don't interrupt the signal. Don't interrupt the signal. OK...OK..."

"49," said Walker.

Casey realized that Bartowski hadn't flashed.

"48," said Walker.

This wasn't the database in his head, this was just him...just Bartowski.

Walker continued to vocalize the countdown. "47...46...45...44...43...42...41...40"

Bartowski unscrewed something and dropped it to the floor.

"39...38...37..." The kid was starting to sweat, noticed Casey. "36...35... 34... 33... 32... 31..." Casey found his eyes riveted to the phone screen. Between each number, the screen of the phone blinked as the numbers changed.

 _Blink_

"30," said Walker.

 _Blink_

"29," said Walker.

 _Blink_

Andric screamed, "You'll never do it. You are dead. Everyone here is dead..."

"Mr. Andric, can you please be quiet? I'm trying to concentrate here," asked Bartowski.

There was a thunk sound and Casey saw Chuck note Andric's unconscious body being lowered to the floor.

"20," said Walker.

Bartowski seemed to be scraping or scratching something on the back of the phone.

 _Blink_

"19," said Walker.

 _Blink_

"18," said Walker

 _Blink_

"17," said Walker. Bartowski pried a different tool from the multitool and set back to work on the back of the phone with it.

Bartowski said, "Come on."

 _Blink_

"16," said Walker.

 _Blink_

"15," said Walker.

"Come on, Bartowski," Bartowski said. Casey noticed that, while he could see the terror in the kid's eyes, his hands were steady.

 _Blink_

"14," said Walker.

"You can do this," said Bartowski.

 _Blink_

"13," said Walker.

"You've fixed dozens of these," said Bartowski.

 _Blink_

"12," said Walker.

"All you have to do is break this one," said Bartowski.

 _Blink_

"12," said Walker.

 _Blink_

"12," said Walker, a rising note in her voice.

 _Blink._

"12, 12, 12...what did you do? It's not counting down any more. What did you do?"

"I looped it. The signal is un-interrupted, but the countdown is stuck."

"How long will this last?," asked Casey.

"Until the battery goes dead, probably, certainly enough time to evacuate the building and get the bomb squad in here." Casey put the phone down on the bench, careful not to disturb the attached cable.

"You did it, Chuck," said Walker with a huge smile, her blue eyes sparkling. The expression on her face when she looked at Bartowski at that moment, Casey had only seen on a woman's face once before in his life, at a train station in Buffalo when he asked Kathleen to marry him. Oh, boy, he thought.

"I did it," he said, grinning, almost as if he didn't quite believe it himself. "I did it. I disarmed a real bomb. I.. I.. Uh...But what if I was wrong?" The kid looked suddenly sick.

"Don't puke on the C-4, kid."

Walker kissed him. The assembled agents, who knew Walker's reputation as a fearsome killer, couldn't have been more surprised if she had sprouted wings and flew around the room. She didn't seem to notice or care.

It wasn't a kiss on the cheek you're-a-good-guy kiss. It wasn't even a hot thank-you-for-disarming-a-bomb kiss. No, this one was a I'm-your-smoking-hot-girlfriend-and-I'm-going-to-rock-your-world-like-it's-never-been-rocked-before-the-moment-I-can-get-you-alone kiss. Damn, Walker. As she pulled back, Casey saw that the kid had an expression on his face like he had suddenly landed in Heaven, and Casey didn't blame him a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Ok. I actually do own Chuck. Naw, just kidding.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were back in the Los Angeles CIA headquarters seated at one end of a conference table behind locked doors. With a glance at his watch, Casey said, "Right." He and Sarah stood up. After a couple of seconds of befuddlement, so did Chuck. All three faced a dark screen on the wall.

Casey said, "Put on your big boy pants, kid, you are about to talk to the Director of the CIA and the Director of the NSA." Casey seemed angry, but Chuck now understood that anger was Casey's resting state.

Chuck tried his best to hide his nerves, but was doing a pretty poor job of it. Sarah reached out and lightly squeezed his hand. That was nice, but didn't quell the butterflies in his stomach.

The screen activated with no warning and they found themselves looking at General Beckman and Director Graham.

Beckman said, "Good evening, Major Casey, Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski. Congratulations on the successful capture of Andric. It seems you have apprehended his entire cell."

Graham picked up, "General Beckman and I want to congratulate all three of you on a major, major victory."

Chuck, somewhat tentatively, raised his hand, not too sure about the protocol of speaking to these two luminaries. "Yes, Mr. Bartowski?" said Graham.

"I think Bryce Larkin deserves some credit, as well," said Chuck. Sarah looked at him in surprise, knowing Chuck's feelings about Bryce. Casey just grunted. "He sent me the encoded information about the bomb plot and Andric's cell. Without that we wouldn't have known of his involvement. Bryce must have known the plot was imminent. I don't know why me...or why he picked such a messed-up way to communicate it...but he clearly wanted someone to know about it...So, I guess he deserves some credit...posthumously, I guess." He saw Beckman and Graham exchange a glance that he couldn't read.

Beckman said, "Mr. Bartowski..."

"Please call me Chuck, General. Mr. Bartowski is my dad, and he's not around anymore."

"Mr. Bartowski." she emphasized his last name and her refusal to adopt a lesser level of formality. "I'm afraid you are under a misapprehension about what Larkin sent you...what you downloaded into your brain. It wasn't limited to the Andric cell or their plans. After 9-11, the government decided that the CIA and the NSA had to play nice with each other. We had to share intelligence. So, we did, and the intersection of all that intelligence, we called the Intersect. That's what you have. Not a tiny database pertaining to the Serbians bombing the hotel. All of it. Everything. All our secrets are now in your head. We think it's merely a coincidence that the information you used to capture Andric arrived in your...possession...when it did."

Casey grunted in surprise.

Sarah said, "What?" Her mouth hung open in obvious shock.

Chuck said, "No way. That's nuts. This has got to be a joke. That's got to be ,,,what?...an exabyte of information?"

Graham said, "Actually about a zettabyte."

"HOLY CRAP! That's insane. That's in my head?" He reached up and clutched his head with both hands. "How is this even possible?" He looked a little panicked.

"We had our scientists working for months to encode that data so that it could be downloaded into test subjects," said Graham.

"Test subjects? You mean you haven't done this before? I'm a test subject? Whoa, love talking with you guys. This just gets better and better."

"Chuck," said Sarah, clutching his arm, "Don't freak out. I'm sure it isn't as bad as it sounds." She turned to the screen, "Right? This isn't as bad as it sounds."

"You're the first," said Beckman.

Chuck took a few deep breaths and said, "Ok. Ok. Well, as the first, and so far only, test subject, I can tell you unequivocally that this new set up of yours sucks. I have all this data in my head and no way to access it except by accident. If you wanted to make the smartest test subject in the world, it didn't work."

Graham spoke up, "As you've seen, as you see something it triggers the information to come to the fore."

"Well, it doesn't work. Sarah and Casey are no doubt in the files...in my head...and I didn't flash on either of them. Hell, I've been hanging around with CIA agents all day and didn't flash on a single one. You," he gestured towards Graham and Beckman, "are both in my head and I didn't flash on either of you either."

"Why are you so sure I'm in the Intersect?" asked Graham.

"Because you were a CIA chief of station before you became Director," answered Chuck.

"See? You flashed on me and didn't even realize it," he replied.

"No, Director. That was from your Senate confirmation hearing," said Chuck. Casey and Sarah looked at him with surprise. "What? I read the papers."

"Conversely, Mr. Bartowski, you identified Andric and six other members of the Serbian militia at Union Station," said Beckman.

"I did, but I also had several flashes yesterday and the bomb still killed 30 people at the hotel last night, so that bit wasn't much of a victory."

"Well, it's a work in progress, obviously," admitted Graham.

"I wish you luck with it. I really do. I hope it works out to make brilliant spies or whatever. Since I got it by mistake, I won't miss it when you take it out." This time he could read the look Graham and Beckman gave each other. "Guys, you can take this out, right? It comes out, right? Tell me you didn't set this up to put in test subjects with no way to remove it." Graham and Beckman looked embarrassed. Chuck yelled, "What the hell is the matter with you people?" As upset as he was, Sarah and Casey thought he had every right to be.

"It was never intended that the entire Intersect would be downloaded into a single individual. We never even thought that was possible, Mr. Bartowski," said Beckman.

"Oh, great. I feel so much better now."

"Until we can recreate the encoding, you will be the only working Intersect," said Graham.

"You aren't going to try this with any other 'test subjects'?" asked Chuck

"We can't. Larkin blew up the computer," said Beckman.

"So, pull the data from the offsite back up. Use that."

Again, Beckman and Graham looked embarrassed.

"Guys, you had off-site back up, right?" Both of them looked down or away from the camera. "Oh, seriously, come on. No offsite back up for a crucial computer system? Seriously? Who do you have in charge of IT? That's ridiculous. I'll have you know that as a taxpayer I find this deeply dispiriting."

Both Sarah and Casey did their best to hide small smiles.

"And another thing, while I'm thinking about it. How did a zettabyte of information get transmitted through a single email? I can't even email a video game to a friend because the file is too big."

For the first time, Beckman looked somewhat smug. "The NSA has created top of the line compression software to enable a great deal of information to be transmitted easily."

"Wow," Chuck said, clearly impressed. "That's really cool. Is it lossy or lossless?" When met by silence, he expanded, "You know, whether or not information is lost to allow the compression. I kind of hope it's lossy." They looked baffled.

"Ok, never mind. One day I'll talk to some of your computer guys and find out. So, let me summarize, if I can. I have a huge database of government secrets in my head that we don't know how to remove and that sort of pops up sometimes when I see something that triggers it. That about cover it?"

"A fair summary," said Graham. "I believe that you could be a valuable asset to the country. In combination with a team of experienced agents, your Intersect insight might be crucial in helping us protect people."

"On the other hand, Mr. Bartowski," continued Beckman, "there are some of us who feel that it would be very dangerous for you...and our country...for the information you have to fall into enemy hands. We feel that the most prudent course of action would be to relocate you to a secure holding facility."

Sarah spoke up, "No. No bunker for Chuck."

"What did you say. Agent Walker?" asked Beckman. Both Chuck and Casey looked at her with surprise.

"I said, no, General. You can't pick up an innocent American citizen and drop him in a hole. That's not what we do in this country."

"Agent Walker, we all know that certain civil liberties are subject to ...abridgement...when it comes to matters of national security," said Beckman.

"Granted, General, but not incarcerating an innocent man. I am whole-heartedly in favor of treating our enemies harshly, but not our own people. I'm one of the good guys, Ma'am. This is not the kind of stuff we do," said Sarah.

Beckman had no patience for this insubordination, and it was reflected in her tone of voice, "Agent Walker, I don't know where you ever got the impression that you have a say in this matter, but I assure you that you do not. From now on you may keep your opinions to yourself and allow your superiors to discuss these matters."

"General, you are conversant with the ICWPA, I expect." At her mention of the Intelligence Community Whistleblower Protection Act of 1998. Beckman scowled fiercely and released a windy sigh.

"Agent Walker, you would seriously destroy your career over this matter?"

"I would sure as shit destroy _somebody's_ career."

"You really think that you alone can stop us if we were to make this decision? I didn't think you were this naïve." Beckman turned to Graham, who appeared to have been enjoying the argument. "Director, in the NSA we train our people to take orders."

Casey spoke for the first time. "General, I agree with you that Walker can't take you on alone, whistleblower or not. The deck is stacked against her way too much." He folded his arms over his massive chest and said, "Too bad, General. I agree with her. No bunker for Bartowski. You can certainly steamroll him. You may be able to steamroll Walker. But, you'll have a hell of a time steamrolling all three of us."

Beckman, now clearly furious, almost sputtered, "Major, just what the hell do you think you are doing?"

"General, if a young Marine under my command performed in Afghanistan the way Bartowski performed in Union Station this afternoon, I would recommend him, or her, for a Silver Star." Sarah gasped and Chuck made a mental note to learn the significance of that award. "No bunker."

"Major, I can give you a direct order," she fumed.

"Which I would view as illegal as applied to an American citizen, and, as per the UCMJ, would be obligated, not permitted, obligated, to ignore." At the mention of the Uniform Code of Military Justice Beckman turned even redder in the face than a moment before if that were even possible.

"How dare you...," said Beckman.

"Before you start...," said Sarah.

"General, we agreed that...," said Graham.

"This is getting...," said Casey.

"Excuse me...," said Chuck.

"I don't think you...," said Sarah.

"..chain of command...," said Beckman.

"...greatest benefit...," said Graham.

"Guys...," said Chuck.

"... honorable service...," said Casey.

"...you have no idea...," said Sarah.

Everyone was yelling at everybody else at an increasing volume and no one was listening to anyone else.

"QUIET," bellowed Chuck at the top of his lungs.

Into the sudden startled silence, Chuck said, "I volunteer." Everybody looked at Chuck and he repeated, "I volunteer. I volunteer to help. I want to help. Don't look so surprised. Each of you volunteered for the jobs you are doing." Chuck missed the look that passed between Sarah and Graham.

Graham smiled, "That's good news. Thank you. May I ask why?"

"Well, Director, from what you've told me I'm the only Intersect for, at least, months. That gives me an ability that you can't duplicate. And with great power comes great responsibility."

Graham nodded sagely and said softly, "Spiderman." Beckman looked at him like he'd lost his mind, and Graham said to her, innocently, "What?"

Chuck raised his hand again to get their attention. When he had it, he continued, "I have two conditions, though."

Beckman rolled her eyes and said to Graham, "This is a mistake."

"What are your conditions?" asked Graham.

"First, you said a team of experienced agents. I want this to be the team. I want to work with Agents Walker and Casey."

"Agent Walker?" asked Graham with a tiny smile.

"I'm good," said Sarah.

"Major Casey?" asked Beckman.

"Yes," said Casey.

"Very well,' said Graham. "What's your second condition?"

"That I be considered an analyst, not an asset."

Beckman started to say, "We can't have an inexperienced..."

Graham cut her off, "That's the same thing. It shouldn't matter to you."

"It's not the same thing at all, Director. An 'Asset'..." Chuck held his hands up and made air quotes with his fingers, "... is, and I quote, 'an individual, usually a foreign national, with particular information or access thereto to be handled by intelligence officers as necessary to obtain the information.' An analyst, however, is 'an individual US Citizen, or Cleared Foreign National, who will consult with and advise the intelligence officers on matters within his or her expertise and otherwise support the team's mission.'"

"Where did you read that?" said Graham.

"I read it in Intelligence and Its Collection. That's the textbook you use to teach new spies the spy business when they attend classes at the Farm. It's the intro course. I was reading it all afternoon. There's a whole chapter on how to handle assets."

Graham frowned, "You don't have the clearance..."

Chuck interrupted him, "Little late for that, don't you think?" He pointed to his head. Graham shrugged, conceding the point. "You left a computer nerd all day in a facility with dozens of CIA computers. What did you expect to happen? Stop looking so surprised, guys. I'm a nerd. When we run into something we don't understand, we read about it. But anyway, I'm not going to be an asset. I don't need to be bribed, seduced, blackmailed, cajoled, threatened, coerced, manipulated, or tricked. I don't need to be handled. I love my country and want to help. So, I'm volunteering to be an analyst."

"Having a handler isn't so bad, Mr. Bartowski. Agents themselves have handlers," said Beckman.

"Yeah, I know. Pretty confusing that you guys use the same word for two very different positions. An agent's handler is more of a supervisor with a bit of mentor thrown in. Completely different thing. In case you care, General, that was in a footnote. So that's it. I am on board if you guys are good with that stipulation."

Graham said, "Agent Walker, what do you think?"

Sarah said, "I think that's a fine idea." She did everything she could to keep a straight face. Inside, of course, she wanted to jump Chuck and smother him with kisses.

Beckman said, "Major?" She seemed to have forgiven him for his previous behavior.

"General, you've known me for years and you know that I am dedicated to the mission. If Bartowski wants to be called an asset, I say we do it. If he wants to be called an analyst, I say we do it. If he wants to be called king, I say we do it. I couldn't care less what we call him so long as we have his help...Ma'am."

"Good," said Graham. "Then it's done. Thank you. Agents Walker and Casey will set up to remain in Los Angeles to work with you and protect you. We will create cover stories for them, to explain to the public and your friends and family why they are suddenly present in your life."

"Director, in my case that will not be necessary. Chuck and I are dating, so my presence will not require a cover."

"Oh, for God's sake. Graham," said Beckman, "what kind of half-assed operation are you going to allow this to turn into?"

"What?" asked Graham.

"Not only do we lack the control we would have over an asset, but your agent is involved with him romantically."

"So? Who cares? I met my wife in the Agency."

"That would never stand in the NSA." declared Beckman.

"Really? We have married couples in the CIA. Some of our best agent teams, in fact. Interoffice romance. Whatever."

Both Chuck and Sarah looked pretty uncomfortable with the way the discussion was going.

"What if they break up? What does that do to the team dynamics?"

"General, why borrow trouble from tomorrow? If their relationship doesn't work out, we'll deal with it then. And seriously, General, is this particular stone one you want to throw?"

Beckman managed to look angry and embarrassed at the same time.

"Alright, then. Agent Walker, Major Casey and Mr. Bart...Chuck, it's settled. Good night and thank you all."

The screen went black.

Sarah turned to Chuck with an ear to ear smile of joy. "Well, I think that went well."

Chuck said, "I want to thank you. Thank you both for everything you did for me tonight. You really put yourselves at risk for me." His sincere gratitude was patently manifest.

Sarah said, "Chuck, it was the right thing to do. I'd have done it for anyone."

"Don't make me regret it, kid," said Casey.

"I'll do my best not to, Casey."

Sarah said, "I didn't expect your support, Casey. Thank you."

Casey grunted and responded, "I didn't do it for you, Walker. I did it for him."

"I understand." She reached her arms up and behind her, stretching. "I'm going to do my paperwork in the morning. Right now, I'm starving. Come on, guys, let's go get dinner. I haven't eaten since room service this morning," said Sarah.

"You two lovebirds go without me. I am going to work late," said Casey. The jibe was delivered gently, with no malice.

"OK, I'll talk to you tomorrow and we can coordinate this operation."

"Right," said Casey.

Chuck and Sarah said their goodnights and headed out to her company car, holding hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once the conference call was disconnected, Graham and Beckman sat looking at each other for a moment. Then, simultaneously, both started laughing. "Well, that went well," said Beckman.

"One hundred percent, Diane. You play a great 'bad cop'."

"It's the uniform. Makes the role easy. So, we have the willing cooperation of a walking talking Intersect. Think he'll stick around when he realizes this life is no fun?"

"Diane, he's sleeping with Walker. How far do you think he's going to wander?"

"Yeah, that's a good point. She seems to really like him."

"Well, I wish him luck. She's pretty messed up," said Graham. "The one that surprised me was Casey. Where did that come from?"

"That 'silver star' comment, yeah. The only thing I can assume is that Bartowski's performance at Union Station impressed the hell out of Casey. And he's seen multiple combat tours. Takes a lot to impress him."

"Think there's more to Bartowski than we thought?"

Beckman answered, "I don't know, Langston. I guess we'll find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: I admit it. I let Chuck channel my inner dislike of the Intersect into his conversation with Beckman and Graham. The Intersect was, in my opinion, in addition to being impossible on so many levels and straining suspension of disbelief beyond its breaking point, a lazy writer's device. There was no rhyme or reason to how or when he flashed. If the writers wanted a flash, they got one. If not, nope. And don't' get me started on the thought that Chuck was a risk to national security by walking around with all the country's secrets in his head. It's not like you could turn him over and all America's secrets would pour out onto the floor. That's only a risk if the bad guys caught him and showed him random pictures until (a) he flashed on something, (b) it was something they gave a damn about and didn't already know themselves, (c) they could make him talk about it, and (d) he told the truth about what he suddenly knew when he did talk. Any bad guy with a hint of common sense would give up in frustration and go back to a tried and true method of obtaining our secrets, like bribing someone or hacking our poorly defended computer systems. Here endeth rant.

One more thing, Chuck never downloaded Bryce's email, he opened it. So, his trashed hard drive had nothing to do with anything and Sarah's question as to whether or not he had a back-up hard drive (external or otherwise) wasn't at all pertinent. Bryce's email, with all that it contained, was still on the servers for the ISP's that hosted Bryce and Chuck's respective email accounts. Problem solved. Go get it, Beckman/Graham.

Just a little more. If anyone claims that you couldn't have Chuck without the Intersect, I invite you to read Chuck vs. La Belle Dame sans Merci by Grayroc. It's a crackling good story without a whisper of Intersect or any other magical thinking.

There's only one more chapter until Chuck's new day comes to an end. But if folks like this take on the story, I can arrange for Chuck to meet Dr. Zarnow. Let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: My lawyer tells me I don't own Chuck, and I believe her.

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The car ahead of them moved forward about three feet, so Sarah moved their car up an equal amount.

"So, this is a spy car. Does it have an ejector seat and machine guns under the headlights?" asked Chuck.

"No, but it is completely bullet proof, has run-flat tires, and can reach a speed of 200 miles per hour," said Sarah. The car in front of them moved another three feet, so Sarah did the same.

"Two hundred miles per hour," said Chuck nodding his head meaningfully. They moved forward another four feet. "Useful." His delivery was deadpan, but she could see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

She laughed. "Are you always this funny?"

"I think you're just easy," he replied.

"You think I'm easy? Is that what you think? Just because I took you to bed last night? Easy?" she said angrily.

"Oh, God..no...that's not what I meant," he looked a little panicked. "No, I swear..." He caught sight of the tiny smile she was trying hard to conceal. "You're just messin' with me. God, and I fell for it. I'm such an idiot."

Now she laughed even harder, "Yup. And you call me easy."

"How can you ever say you're not funny? That was really funny."

"Beginner's luck, I guess," she said. They moved another three feet.

"Listen, forget the GPS. It won't take traffic into account. I got this." He proceeded to give her directions. The trip would be much faster, as they were now away from the flow of heavy traffic.

"Wisdom of the native?" asked Sarah.

"Sarah, avoiding traffic in LA is an art form. I've been here 27 years and have the intuition of a Jedi when it comes to traffic."

"What's a Jedi?"

"Seriously? You don't know what Jedi is? Are you messing with me again?"

"Ah, no. I really don't know."

"OK, we have to make a note. I'm going to show you the Star Wars movies."

"Are those the ones with Captain Kirk?"

"Oh, boy. Do I have work to do," he said.

"Well, speaking of which, you did some pretty good work today," she said seriously. "Between Union Station and the way you stood up to Beckman and Graham, you were incredible."

"Thanks... I wanted to ask you, what's the significance of a Silver Star? I mean I know it's a medal and all, but when Casey said that you gasped."

"Chuck," said Sarah, "that's one of the top medals they give out. It's a very, very big deal. For him to suggest that...wow. I don't know him, but his reputation is pretty fierce. He wouldn't say something like that lightly. We were twelve seconds away from death and you saved us...you saved everyone in the building... me, Casey, hundreds, maybe a thousand lives. And it wasn't the Intersect thing, it was you, Chuck Bartowski from Burbank. Seems Casey's become a fan of yours. And the fact that he stood up to Beckman on your behalf...wow again. That was wild." She grinned. "But I wouldn't expect him to go easy on you because of it."

"Hell, he'll probably be all the harder on me,"

"Yeah, that seems most likely," said Sarah. "But Chuck, you should know, he's not the only one you impressed the hell out of today." She gave him a smile that took his breath away and reached out to hold his hand.

"Thank you, but you were pretty damn impressive yourself. And I'm not just talking about the fight with that woman, although you are scary good at fighting. I mean the way you coordinated the search. Got all the agents on the same page. Made smart decisions quickly and firmly...you were really in command...you were the leader. It was so cool to see...to be a part of. You're truly an amazing woman, Sarah." Inside, he couldn't believe that they were together, that they were dating. She was so far out of his league it was ridiculous. Sure, Ellie was always telling him he's a great catch, but, as sweet as she was, he knew better.

"Thanks, Chuck. Are we the charter members of the Chuck and Sarah Mutual Admiration Society?"

"You know, I've always thought it should be Reciprocal rather than Mutual. It's not something we are doing together, it something each is directing to the other."

"Oh my God, you are such a nerd." She was laughing again. She realized that she had laughed more in the last 24 hours than she had in years. It was a continuing revelation to her that a great sense of humor could be so damn attractive.

"Um...yup. Hope you are good with that."

"It's working out pretty well so far," said Sarah grinning.

"Here, here, here. Turn here." She did and he said, "The place is right over there. Let's take the first spot we find."

They found a spot quickly and walked over to the restaurant. It was a small, cute, beachside bar and grill. Chuck had promised that it had the best burgers in town, even better than In-N-Out Burger, which Sarah found hard to believe.

"Hey, Jack," said Chuck to the host. "What's up?"

"Oh, you know, Chuck," the man said while leading them to a secluded table with a lovely view of the ocean. "The usual. How's Ellie?"

"She's great. So's Devon, awesome as usual. How's Barbara?"

"She's good. Getting ready for finals. Hey, did you hear the feds caught those bastards who blew up the hotel?"

"Yeah, I heard," said Chuck. He glanced at Sarah, who didn't look up from her menu.

"Seems those pricks tried to bomb Union Station too, but one of the feds disarmed the bomb. Real hero. I'd buy him a beer, I'll tell you that. Hell, I'd just love to shake his hand."

"Yeah, quite a hero," said Chuck, feeling really weird about not telling Jack the truth.

Addressing himself to Sarah, Jack said, "Don't know if Chuck told you, but we have the best burgers in town."

"Actually, that's exactly what he told me," she replied with a huge smile.

"Great. I'll send over Cheryl. Enjoy dinner. Talk to you soon, Chuck." Jack walked away.

"I feel weird not telling him the truth," said Chuck.

"Chuck, that's something you're going to have to get used to. What you did, what you volunteered to do now, there's no recognition, no notoriety. You won't get the headlines, even when you are the hero like today. Did you know there's a whole wall at CIA headquarters with stars for agents who died on the job? No names, though, only the stars. Even when they are gone, there's no recognition of what they did."

"No, Sarah, that's not it. That's not what I mean. I don't care about that stuff. Recognition and that stuff. I just feel weird...I don't know...having secrets, keeping secrets."

The waitress, Cheryl, came to the table and greeted Chuck with a huge smile, "Well, if it isn't my favorite customer. Hi, Chuck." Cheryl was a somewhat busty brunette with a nose ring. She looked at Sarah.

Chuck said, "Cheryl, this is my..." Chuck froze. One date...a great date...and all day...and now dinner...when does a girl he's dating become a girlfriend?...How many dates?...Is it something they should agree on? Talk about?

Sarah said, "I'm Chuck's girlfriend, Sarah. Nice to meet you, Cheryl." As they shook hands, Sarah saw a twinge of disappointment in Cheryl's eyes, just for an instant, and was surprised to find that that made her really happy. She smiled even wider.

Chuck ordered a cheeseburger and a Bud. Sarah ordered a cheeseburger with extra pickles and a Stella.

Once Cheryl left Chuck said, "You're my girlfriend?"

"Yup. You got a problem with that, Bartowski?"

He gave a somewhat goofy grin and said, "I guess that makes me your boyfriend," as he did something funny with his eyebrows.

"Guess so."

"Then, no. No problem at all," said Chuck. How in the world did he end up here?, he wondered. Could this whole thing be a dream? "Can I stand on the chair and announce to everyone here that you're my girlfriend?"

"I think Jack might object," she said laughing.

"Cause I really want to right now." Their beers came. Both of them declined the proffered glasses and picked up the bottles. Chuck held his bottle up and said, "Here's to new days."

She clicked bottles with him and repeated, "To new days."

"Chuck, what you said before about keeping secrets. You know that's important, right? Even if you are tempted to. Even if you really, really want to, you can't tell anyone what's going on. Not your sister or her awesome boyfriend. Not anyone at the Buy More, even Morgan. You can't tell him either."

"I know. I understand. I can't put them in danger. I'll have to keep this secret...I'll have to lie to them. I understand. It's just going to be hard. Maybe I'll get used to it..."

"I hope not," said Sarah. "You're a really nice, honest guy. I hope you never get used to it."

"I understand that all spies do it. Lie. I get it. It's part of the job. Is Sarah even your real name?"

Her face got stormy and a deep frown developed. She said, her voice not quite angry, but nowhere near lighthearted, "I told you I wouldn't lie to you and I won't. That doesn't mean that I don't have secrets." Chuck felt like he'd stepped on a land mine, an innocent step followed by explosion. "I do and I will. Don't ask me to tell you personal stuff. It isn't any of your business and it..."

Their food arrived. Sarah was no longer smiling. Once Cheryl left, Chuck said, "OK, got it. No personal stuff. Got it. Another question, though, I promise not personal." She nodded ok, but still didn't smile. Oh, boy, he thought. "So, you know the video conference with Beckman and Graham? Where was the camera they were looking into?"

"What?" The humor started coming back into her eyes.

"Seriously. Didn't you notice? It seemed they were looking right at us, but that would mean they were looking right at the camera broadcasting their images. But they couldn't have been because they were looking at us on the screen in front of them. So where was the camera? In the screen? Embedded in the screen? Cause that's some awesome tech if they have that."

She was laughing again. "Oh my God, my boyfriend is so weird. But, he has good taste in burgers. You were right. This is delicious."

"Better than In-N-Out?"

With her mouth full, she just sort of nodded yes.

"I have pretty good taste in girlfriends too, you know."

Her mouth still full, and with a smirky smile, she nodded yes again.

Chuck said, "So, where do we go from here? What are the next steps?"

"Well, I guess we go home. I'll go to the hotel and you go back to your apartment. Unless you want to stay over again. I'd like that a lot, but might be hard to explain to Ellie."

"I would so love to, but that's not actually what I was asking. With this whole spy team thing...what happens next?"

"Oh. Well, I will have to coordinate with Casey, so my answer is tentative until we can check with him too, but, probably I'll go back to DC. If I'm setting up here for a few months, I'm going to need more than a couple of changes of clothes and I'll need a bunch more gear. I'd also like to have my own car, so I don't have to drive the company cars. My guess is I fly back, pack and drive across...hey, you want to come? Drive cross country with your new girlfriend?"

"There is nothing I'd like to do more than that... but if I'm gonna stay at the Buy More and be a full time analyst, I think I better husband my available vacation time. I'm probably going to need it. Right?"

"Oh man, I'm used to being the hard-nosed practical one. Of course, right. What are you doing to me, Chuck?"

"I'm a terrible influence."

"While I'm gone, Casey will be around. We won't leave you without one of us nearby. In addition to your teammates, we are also your bodyguards. As the only working Intersect, you are pretty valuable. After that, they will probably want you checked out by doctors or scientists or something, being the lab rat that you are. You know, by the way, that when you insisted on an analyst position, you cleared the way for our relationship..."

"Long may she wave." He raised his beer bottle in salute.

"Yes, long may she wave," she similarly raised her's. "... to be open and above-board. To come out to Graham and Beckman. That was pretty cool of you. It will make our lives a lot easier so long as we are seeing each other."

"I knew that. It was in the textbook that assets and handlers can't have real relationships. The asset can be seduced by the handler, but if the handler actually develops real feelings for the asset the handler is out on his asset." He smiled a little. "But that's not why I did it. It's a side benefit, but not the real reason. The real reason is that being an asset, for me, was insulting. It's the object of the intelligence gathering, not a free, willing participant. The asset is not part of the team any more than the lion is part of the lion tamer's team. He, or she, is useful, until not. There is no partnership, no loyalty. I hated the idea. If I was going to help, and I had already decided that I wanted to, there was no way I was going to have that designation...have that relationship with the people I would be working with...not just with you, but Casey too. With all of them. Assets are disposable. Burn them, kill them, drop 'em in a hole. Colleagues aren't."

"I understand. I never looked at it that way, but can see it... See your perspective on it. Well, it turned out just fine. They agreed. Beckman with less than good grace, but agreement is agreement. Hey, you know, we should probably get you an analyst's contract. Get it in writing. Can't hurt."

Having finished their burgers, they paid the bill, said good night to Jack and left the restaurant.

Chuck said, "Want to walk for a bit? There's a path by the beach."

"Sure," she said. She put her arm around his waist and he put his arm around her shoulders and they began to walk down the path. They were quiet for a while, until Sarah said, "You remember I warned you a couple of times that I have baggage?" He made an affirmative hmmm noise. "Well, you stubbed your toe on some of the baggage at dinner. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's ok. Don't worry about it."

"Chuck, I have all sorts of reasons for not wanting to talk about things. Some of them might be good reasons, but I'm sure not all of them are good reasons. But they are my reasons and I'm pretty serious about them."

"It's ok, Sarah. I'm not going to press you. I'm sorry I asked. Tell me what you want to tell me and don't tell me any more than that. It's cool. When you hire me as your biographer, we'll have a different discussion, but in the meantime, it's cool." She laughed lightly.

They walked for a bit more in silence. When she said, "What's a name? What do you mean is this my real name?"

"Sarah, you don't have to..."

"No, just go with it. What do you mean?"

"I don't know. The name on your birth certificate, I guess."

"No, this is not the name on my birth certificate. It is also not an alias picked a few days ago for this mission to California."

"Ok."

"Sarah Walker is the name that I have been known by my entire career, many years now. It's what's on my file in the CIA. It's how they make out my paycheck. It's how all my colleagues know me. It's the name my real passport and bank accounts are under."

"OK, so, it is your real name. That's all. People change their names all the time for all sorts of reasons. Muhammad Ali used to get royally pissed at anyone calling him Cassius Clay. Who cares what's on your birth certificate? You are Sarah Walker. End of story. The rest of it doesn't matter a bit."

She hugged him harder and said, "You are a pretty special guy, Chuck Bartowski."

"Maybe that's how I ended up with a pretty special girlfriend." He found that he quite liked saying the word 'girlfriend'.

They walked in comfortable silence for a little while longer when Sarah said, "I wasn't a hundred percent honest after the call with Graham." She looked at him and he raised an eyebrow in query. "I told you standing up to Beckman and Graham was nothing I wouldn't do for anyone else. That I did it because it was the right thing to do. And the truth is, I don't know. True, I feel differently about you, and what you did at Union Station was way beyond special, but there was something else too. I was angry at the CIA and angry at Graham. My last assignment, before coming to California to meet you, was a total disaster. I was betrayed and used by someone I trusted … someone the Agency told me to trust. And that led to...some pretty tough stuff...and, in the end, I rebelled a little bit...maybe more than a little. I was so fed up with the Agency telling me and everybody else what to do. As if they know better. As if Graham can't make a mistake. They throw around words like National Security and think it gives them carte blanche to run roughshod over people...innocent people. It made me mad. And when they started talking about putting you in a bunker...well, I just saw red...I just thought you should know. I mean, we are going to be teammates...partners...I thought you should know. I'm finding myself a little grumpy about authority lately."

"OK, Sarah. I'll keep it in mind, I guess. If you ever want to talk about stuff, you can always talk to me. I don't want to pressure you or anything, but..."

"Thanks, Chuck. I appreciate that. Hey, you want to sit on the beach and look at the stars?"

"Sure." She took off her shoes and he took off his Chucks and they walked barefoot through the sand to a nice semi-secluded spot. They sat looking at the stars. Looking westward, with their back to the city, the stars weren't obscured by light pollution and were brilliant and beautiful.

Chuck said, "Want me to tell you the myths associated with the constellations?"

"Only if you let me explain how to navigate a boat far from land by the stars alone."

"Wow, we are both kind of nerdy."

They were quiet for a while and Sarah sensed that he was deep in thought. Softly, she said, "Talk to me, Chuck."

"Yesterday, I was making eleven bucks an hour fixing computers, now I have one in my brain, and I can't figure out why Bryce did this. Why he chose me. It's like a sci fi story, but not a good sci fi story, like Red Mars, a bad sci fi story, like Flash Gordon. And I don't know what to make of it all. Am I to blame for the bombing last night? If I had flashed on something, could I have stopped it? What if I had seen a picture of the hotel in a magazine or on a billboard? Would those people still be alive? Sarah, I didn't say it to Beckman and Graham, but that's the real reason I agreed to help. I didn't help yesterday and thirty people are dead and dozens more wounded. Maybe I could have stopped it."

Sarah could hear the pain, the emotion, in his voice, "No, Chuck. There's no way you could have known. You didn't even know what was happening in your brain until this morning. It wasn't your fault. Please, don't think like that. It's not your fault. Bad things happen. We do all we can to stop them from happening, stopping bad people. But they will happen anyway. If you take on yourself the blame for everything you will end up in a mental ward or worse. Please."

He nodded his understanding, and said, "OK, but it's more confusing than that. My feelings are so conflicted. I don't even know how to describe it...as freaked out as I feel, and I really am freaked out...and as bad for the victims of the bombing as I feel...for the first time in years I feel alive." He smiled at her. "It's like I woke up from a long sleep and everything familiar seems suddenly new. I have no doubt that being with you...having you as my new girlfriend, is a huge part of it, but it's not all...I did something today that I'm really freaking proud of. I did something good that helped people...and it felt great. It felt like I had finally accomplished something after years of...well, of not accomplishing anything. I like that feeling, Sarah. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow, and I haven't said that since Stanford. But, I really am also freaked out. I'm scared, too. At the same time."

"We'll protect you. You're not going to get hurt."

"I know, but that's not really what I meant. I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't want to get hurt. I'm a full-blown coward."

She made a face at him and said, "Yeah, a full-blown coward who sat on top of a bomb with less than a minute to detonate. Some coward."

He gave a little grin and continued, "It's not getting hurt that scares me, I mean not really. It's screwing up. Your world is all new to me. Different rules and risks. I don't understand any of them. I'm stuck at the Nerd Herd desk at a Buy More, so I clearly don't even navigate my own world too well. Think about it, Sarah. You are a top-notch spy. Maybe the best America has to offer. What if you went into an operating room with Captain Awesome and he handed you a scalpel and wished you luck? As good as you are, you'd freak out too."

"Chuck, I hear you. I understand. But unlike in your analogy, Casey and I will be right there with you every step of the way. You've already proven to be a quick learner. It is all going to be ok. There's only one thing you have to do for me."

"What?"

"Trust me, Chuck." She leaned into him and they kissed for a long time.

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A/N: That's the end of Chuck's new day. Stay tuned for Dr. Zarnow.

If any of you readers hold an In-N-Out franchise, sorry, but if It's any consolation, Jack's burger place is fictional. In-N-Out Burger still has the best burgers in LA.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the readers who have given feedback. It is what makes posting this stuff fun.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: .kcuhC nwo t'noD

Congratulations to Yvonne Strahovski and Tim Loden on the birth of their son. Mazel tov. He's a cutie.

Thanks for all the support and encouragement on this story. Chuck's first new day is over, and now it's time for our friends to meet the good doctor. But first, a recap.

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Hi, my name is Charles Bartowski, but you can call me Chuck. My life is filled with spies, computer stealing ninjas, and terrorists. Oh, wait, let me go back. I work at the Buy More with my best friend Morgan. It used to be pretty boring. You see, everything changed when I got an email from my old college buddy Bryce Larkin. Bryce had been working for the CIA when he stole a whole bunch of government secrets. Big important secrets. Secrets that can help the good guys stop the bad guys from doing the bad things that bad guys do in order to deserve that name. The next thing I know, these government secrets are downloaded into my brain – yeah, I know, downloaded and brain don't go together in a single sentence very often, it's weird. Trust me, I know. Anyway, it means any moment of my life I could see something that will help the good guys stop the aforementioned bad guys. So now I'm helping to defend the country from assassins, drug dealers and terrorists. The NSA sent their top agent to work with me, a Marine Corps Major named Casey. He can be pretty scary. He works at Buy More now, as a cover. The CIA sent their top agent, too. Her name is Sarah Walker. She's my girlfriend. My real girlfriend, not a cover girlfriend. Which is the best thing to happen to me since...well, it's the best thing to happen to me. She's been gone for almost a week now driving back to Burbank from the east coast. The day she left, she came to kiss me goodbye and I flashed on a ring she was wearing. I saw, in my head, a video clip of her fighting off and killing three men. It upset me a lot to see that. I haven't told her about it yet, even though we talked for an hour or so every night she was away. I want to wait to figure out how to discuss it with her. You see, she doesn't like to share a lot about her past. When I talked to her late last night, when she got back to Los Angeles, she told me she'd have a surprise for me this morning, so let's see what the morning brings.

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"Casey, you don't have to beat the hell out of a shoplifter. It's only a video game," said Chuck, a little breathless from running across the parking lot.

Casey gave a growling snarl (or maybe a snarling growl) and lowered his fist. The cowering teenager on the ground looked like he might pee himself any moment. Hopefully, Casey had scared the kid enough to make him rethink a life of crime. At least, Chuck hoped Casey's goal had been to scare the kid straight and not to actually beat him to a pulp. Morgan joined them, even more breathless than Chuck. As Casey and Morgan began to manhandle the kid back to the Buy More, Chuck's eye was caught by a flash of blonde hair connected to long beautiful legs in front of the Wienerlicious, a fast food place across the way. He thought, 'nice, but don't look, it's creepy to do that and you have a...' the blonde girl with pig tails and a short skirted Wienerlicious uniform turned around. '...girlfriend..." Chuck completed the thought, and said, "Sarah?"

The Wienerlicious girl, his girlfriend Sarah, smiled sweetly and gave him a tiny, cute wave. Guess I know the morning's surprise, he thought.

As she went inside with the table trash from the outdoor seating, he was almost run over by an SUV running to her store. When he got there, she gave him a dazzling smile and said, "Surprise." He gave her a huge grin and took her in his arms and kissed her. He was still enjoying the feel of her lips on his and her body pressed up against his when he smelled something. Opening one eye, he saw wisps of smoke coming from the fryer. Pushing her back gently, and with a tiny smile, he gestured with his head toward the cooking area.

"Oh, dammit," she yelled. "I burned another batch. That freaking fryer is way hotter than the temp gauge says it is." She ran over and took the burning wieners out of the cooking oil and threw them out. She began to clean up the spilled grease from the area.

"I'm really happy to see you. I missed you," he said. He looked so cute she wanted to eat him. That Nerd Herd uniform of his was actually starting to grow on her.

"I missed you too," she said, with a smile. "We have some catching up to do. You have some boyfriend obligations to take care of, Mr. Bartowski"

"And never let it be said that the Bartowskis don't take their obligations seriously."

"I certainly hope so. I've been thinking about nothing else since..." Two teenage boys came into the store and ordered sodas. Chuck thought they were there for the sole purpose of looking at Sarah, and, he had to admit, he didn't really blame them too much.

When they left, Chuck said, "Um, Sarah, I can guess why you are here. It's gonna be your cover for this mission, but couldn't you have gotten something at the Buy More instead? Like Casey."

"Chuck, think about it. I can observe the outside of the store from here. So, we have one agent inside and other covering outside."

"Ah, got it. That makes sense."

Glancing out the window, she said, "More kids at coming. I get a break at two. Can you and Casey come over then, please? We have some stuff to talk about."

"Ok, got it." He quickly moved to the other side of the counter and gave her a quick kiss. "See you soon. And I take my obligations very seriously." He grinned.

"You better, Mister."

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At 2pm Casey and Chuck, together with some wieners and sodas, sat with Sarah at one of the outdoor tables. "Welcome back, Walker. What's new?"

"I talked to Graham before I left DC. They are sending a scientist, Dr. Zarnow, to examine Chuck. He'll be here tonight."

"Who is he?" asked Casey.

"He's one of yours. NSA. I read his file on the way cross country. He worked on the encoding process for the Intersect. Grab bag of advanced degrees. Digital neurology."

"I didn't know that was a thing," said Casey.

"Oh, yeah," said Chuck. "I've been reading about it all week, ever since I found out I had a computer database stuck in my head. I just wish I could talk to Ellie about it."

"Uh, uh," grunted Casey.

"Oh, I know I can't. I wasn't suggesting that. I was just saying, that's all," said Chuck, with a shrug. "But, I have a question, guys. This examination, will it involve needles? Or probing, by any chance? I don't really like those things too much."

"It's going to be entirely probing...with needles, numbnuts," said Casey.

Sarah said, "Oh, stop it, Casey." Turning to Chuck she said, "He's going to show you pictures to see if you flash. He might have a shot at figuring out how to remove it from your head. That's what you want, right?" Chuck swallowed nervously, nodding his head. Of course, he wanted it out of his head. He wanted his life to go back to normal. Back to normal. Back to that boring, mind numbing, inconsequential, useless normal. Of course, he did.

"I'm not thrilled that someone else will know Bartowski has the Intersect. The fewer people know, the tighter the op sec," he said, referring to operational security.

"I agree," said Sarah. "Think there's a way to disguise his identity or something?"

"Well, he doesn't have to be in the same room to see if the kid flashes, just has to hear him," said Casey.

"The home theater room. At the Buy More...the home theater room. He can be outside, show me the pictures and hear my answers. That would be a snap for me to set up. We can keep the curtains closed so he can't see who's inside," said Chuck.

"Good idea," said Casey.

"Yeah," said Sarah. "How long will it take you to set that up?"

"Not too long. Twenty minutes. Half hour. Something like that. The Buy More closes at 8. Want to tell the doctor to come by at 9?"

"Let's say 10," said Sarah. "I don't know what time his flight lands." He noticed a tiny smile that came and went from her beautiful face in barely an instant.

"Sounds like a plan. Good. In the meantime, I have some NSA goodies for you two," said Casey. He reached into the bag he was carrying and took out two jeweler style flip open boxes. Each contained a watch, one men's and one women's. "GPS trackers." He waved his own wrist, showing off the twin of the men's watch. "We're a team. This way we can keep track of each other. They connect to apps on our cell phones."

"Good idea, Casey. Thanks," Sarah said as she put on her watch.

"Thanks, Casey," said Chuck as he did the same. "This is so cool. I have a spy watch. I thought James Bond wore a Rolex." He was chuckling lightly. Inside, there was a certain warm satisfaction to have a physical symbol that he was part of a team, part of this team with these two extraordinary people. If he'd been a four year old, he'd have sworn to himself never to take the watch off.

"American made, moron," said Casey. Chuck could swear that he heard humor in the gravely growl.

They had finished their lunches and stood up to get back to their respective jobs. Sarah said, "Chuck, can you come to the hotel after work and we can get dinner before the Zarnow meeting?" She had a twinkle in her eye.

Casey mumbled something about peanut butter and chocolate.

Chuck said, "Sure. I'll just go home first and change out of my Nerd Herd uniform. I should be to you by 6:30 of so." He leaned over to give her a quick kiss. She hugged him after the kiss and whispered in his ear exactly what the boyfriend obligations she was expecting him to perform entailed. He groaned and turned a bright shade of red. She smiled brightly and went back into the Weinerlicious. Chuck looked around with a tiny bit of panic in his eyes and said, "Casey, can I have that bag? That empty bag, please?" Casey handed it to him. Chuck walked with it held in front of him at waist level for most of the way across the parking lot, much to Casey's amusement.

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At a few minutes after 9, Chuck and Sarah walked from her Porsche to the Buy More entrance. Both looked very happy, glowing with the aftermath of a vigorous reunion after a week apart. Casey was already there.

For the next half hour or so, Chuck set up the home theater room as he, Sarah and Casey had planned. At a few minutes before 10, he went inside with the curtains closed. Sarah gave him a kiss and tried to calm his nerves. "Just relax Chuck. Just look at the pictures and say what they are."

"Don't screw it up, kid," said Casey, as he left the room.

"No probing?" he asked with a nervous smile.

"Haven't you done enough probing for the evening?" she asked with a salacious grin.

"Oh, ah," he started to blush, which Sarah found totally adorable. "Maybe not entirely enough. I might have one good probe left in me," he said with a smile.

Laughing, she left him with another quick kiss.

Casey and Sarah waiting for the doctor in comfortable silence, standing at the nerd Herd desk. At 10pm on the dot, he arrived, towing a carry-on wheeled bag.

"Agent Walker. Agent Casey. Good evening. I'm eager to get started. Where is my patient?

"You won't get to meet your patient face to face. Security considerations. For your safety. You understand, I'm sure," said Casey. His deep growl made it clear that he didn't care too much whether Zarnow understood or not.

"We've arranged for you to conduct your testing from here," said Sarah. They led him to the Nerd Herd desk. He plugged his laptop into the cable they gave him that led to the monitor in the home theater room. (Although Zarnow didn't really know where it was leading.)

"Does he work here?" asked Zarnow.

"Who said it's a 'he'?" asked Sarah.

"Right," said Casey. "The person with the Intersect in their head works in a Buy More...right."

"Yes. Ridiculous, of course," said Zarnow. Sarah didn't like the man. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her gut told her not to trust him. She exchanged a look with Casey. She didn't know Casey very well, but if she had to guess, he shared her unease. The guy was creepy.

Zarnow said, into the microphone they had provided, "At the sound of the tone, the test will begin." He began to enter commands into his computer, displaying pictures to Chuck behind the curtains.

After the first one, Chuck said, "Ahh, dog." His voice came out to them altered and unrecognizable by the computer scrambler they had installed in an effort to further conceal his identity. Given the changed voice, it could have been either a man or a woman speaking. The computer produced a running transcript of Chuck's spoken words. Zarnow pushed a button. "Ah, hippopotamus." Another button. "Fat guy." Another button. "Ugly building." Another button. "Really beautiful woman at the beach." Another button. "Cardinal One is the top Moscow spy in the White House..." The cadence of Chuck's speech had changed. He was clearly reciting from something other than normal memory.

So, it had started, thought Casey and Sarah. Here we go. For the next half hour Zarnow showed Chuck the pictures he, Zarnow, had encoded for the Intersect project. Of course, for security reasons, Zarnow had never been given access to all of the Intersect information to encode, but a perfectly sufficient test could be conducted with just the information he had been given. From the expression Zarnow wore, it seemed Chuck correctly identified the information behind each image displayed. The test ended as Chuck said, "Well, that's just a picture of a turtle."

Zarnow, a little breathless and clearly stunned, said, "My word. Your patient is phenomenal. We never imagined this."

"What didn't you imagine?" asked Sarah.

"One person seeing all the Intersect images. All our secrets in one mind."

"Can you remove the secrets, Doctor?" asked Casey.

Zarnow looked down and away for an instant. Then said, "Yes, I think I can." He looked eager...hungry even. Sarah didn't like it one bit.

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Zarnow's car drove along one of the smaller roads in a rugged part of the hills. A cell phone in the back seat began to ring. After a few rings, it exploded. Not a powerful explosion, merely a dispersal explosion. It spread into the air a powered mixture of aluminum, as a fuel, and iron (III) oxide, as an oxidizer. The composition was one of several commonly known as known as thermite (of the different mixtures, this was the most effective). A couple of seconds later, after the thermite powder had spread throughout the interior of the vehicle, it was ignited by a spark from the cell phone looking device. The resulting explosion made a dull _whoomp_ sound. The fire burned at a temperature of 2500 degrees C, thermite being the hottest man-made substance. The interior of the car and everything it contained was practically vaporized by the intense heat.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: NOwn Chuck. I made a new word. As David Carner would say, 'you're welcome, Websters'.

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Sarah got the call from Graham around dawn. The sun was fully up by the time she made it to the wreck in the hills. The car was burned out with just a charred shell left. She smelled burnt rubber and scorched metal. A light wind blew the brownish-yellow dust around. It was going to be a hot day. Cops and crime scene techs swarmed around the car taking pictures and making measurements. Other cops were canvassing the area looking for witnesses.

How could this be?, she asked herself. Only she and Casey knew Zarnow was coming to Burbank to see his patient. Secrecy was extreme. Not that many people even knew about the Intersect project. Who would benefit from killing Zarnow and keeping Chuck the Intersect? As she was mulling these questions and examining the scene, her toe nudged a destroyed cell phone. She recognized it as an NSA incinerator. Oh shit. An assassination tool used by Casey and his people. Leaves no biological material behind. Everything organic burned up. Why would Casey kill Zarnow? Is a motive even pertinent? It's Casey. His reputation was well known. Stone cold killer. 'Cold school' was how Graham had described him.

And there he was on the other side of the car, looking at her. She put the incinerator in her pocket.

"Well," she said, "no sign of anything here." The light wind blew her hair into her eyes, but her face was a careful mask. Casey could see the sudden wariness in her blue eyes

"Looks like we are sending the good doctor home in an ashtray," he said with his trademark gruff humor.

"I've got hot dogs to fry."

"And I've got some toasters to sell," he said.

She got into her car and drove away.

Casey took out his phone and called Beckman. "Yeah, Zarnow's dead. Looks like the Intersect stays with Chuck...They want us to think it's a CIA job...No. Absolutely not...Sure, I'll let you know."

In her Porsche, Sarah called Graham. "Graham, secure."

"Walker, secure. I found an NSA incinerator at the site."

"Oh, shit...Does Casey know you found it?"

"I don't think so."

"Ok, show it to Chuck and see if he flashes anything. In the meantime, don't Let Casey know you know. I have to figure out what's going on from here."

"Right." She hung up.

Sarah was kicking herself that she had allowed herself to be lulled into trusting someone like Casey, even for a moment. She knew better than to trust. It was not just a lesson she's learned as a spy, it was a lesson she'd learned her entire life. And Casey's reputation should have put her on notice that trusting him would be a mistake. Fool, she said to herself bitterly.

She hoped Graham could figure out what was going on, but had to admit the possibility that Casey was free-lancing with this hit. Maybe rogue. Maybe just an out of control killer. Maybe he didn't like Zarnow's face or attitude. Sarah couldn't blame him for those, as she didn't like them too much either. If the orders didn't come from Beckman, this situation was even more dangerous.

She drove directly to the Wienerlicious, changed into her outfit and texted Chuck. COME HERE ASAP PLS

A few minutes later he came into the store. She looked serious, even angry. "What's the matter?" he asked, giving her a quick kiss. "I mean, good morning. You look lovely. What's the matter?"

"Zarnow was murdered soon after leaving us last night." Chuck tried to reconcile the harsh, shocking words with the pig tails and borderline comic outfit she wore. It felt bizarre to him.

"What? Oh, God. What happened?" His shock and bafflement were as plain as day.

"Take a look at this." She slid across the counter a plastic baggie containing the incinerator.

Looking at the broken and burned cell phone, he said, "It's a nasty..." Chuck flashed and said, "NSA Incinerator. Special issue. Designed to eliminate all biological traces." He dropped it on the counter as if it had burned his fingers and said, "That's what killed the doctor."

"Exactly. I don't know why, but Casey killed him."

"Why? Why would Casey do that?"

"He's a killer, Chuck. It's what he does." Her voice was harsh, uncompromising.

"Maybe. But all spies kill. This one, though, it's not Casey. There's another explanation. There has to be."

Sarah's voice softened somewhat. "I know you want to believe in him, to trust him...we're a team and all that...and I know this is hard on you... but he's a killer. He and I were the only people who knew Zarnow was coming here to see you. This is a signature NSA device. There is no other explanation. I need you to go back to the Buy More, but don't meet with him alone. Act like you know nothing. You can do that. Trust me, Chuck. Then after your shift is over today come over to my place and we'll figure out what to do next."

With a quick kiss good bye, he turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway, his face troubled, and said, "I still think you're wrong."

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She had changed out of her Wienerlicious outfit and wore jeans and a tee shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed was a fully loaded H&K MP-5 9mm submachine gun, with the safety off and a long silencer attached. There was a faint whiff of gun oil in the air. It was an ugly weapon, but very effective.

At his knock, Sarah let Chuck into her room. He was still in his Nerd Herd uniform and wore his computer bag slung over his shoulder. "Hey," he said. They exchanged a quick kiss.

"Hey," she said as she checked the corridor in both directions before closing the door.

As he took off the computer bag, he said, "We have to talk about Casey." He saw the weapon on the bed and visibly paled.

"Yes," said Sarah, "We do. I know you don't like this." She gestured to the MP-5 on the bed. "... but it's to protect us. I don't understand what is happening right now with Casey, but I'm not going to let anybody hurt you...or me, for that matter. I know you aren't comfortable with this turn of events. I know you want to think the best of Casey, but you have to trust me."

"I do trust you. I trust you 1000%. But that doesn't mean you're never wrong. It doesn't mean you will win every argument we will ever have … well, to be honest you will probably win most of them," he said with a tiny smile. "I'm allowed to disagree with you and still trust you. If you think otherwise, you and I have very different meanings of the word."

"Of course, I don't' think otherwise, but we both know you are new to this world. Things happen here that you won't be used to. There are betrayals..."

"Please don't tell me I'm not used to betrayal. My mother left when I was little and my dad when I was just a few years older. My buddy got me kicked out of college and started to sleep with my girlfriend, who dumped me at the same time. I am very, very used to betrayal. It's my middle freaking name." He didn't raise his voice, but spoke with deep emotion and pain. Pain that moved Sarah deeply. "But the response to that is not to close yourself off. You have to trust people."

Sarah began to pace around the room. She was clearly struggling with this conversation. "No, you don't. Not in this world. Trusting people...opening yourself up to people, is exactly the way to get hurt. To be betrayed. Look, Bryce betrayed us both...you at Stanford and me just a few months ago when he went rogue..."

"Yes, so the lesson you learn is that your next partner will do the same? That's not much a of lesson."

"The lesson is 'fool me, shame on me." She sounded exasperated.

"That's not the saying and you know it." Chuck sounded equally exasperated. "I'm saying you have to give people the benefit of the doubt. I don't know what has happened to you in your life, in your career, and you don't have to tell me..." He held his hands up in front of him in a defensive gesture. "...but if you assume the worst in everyone you meet..."

"You'll be a hell of a lot safer," interrupted Sarah.

And alone, thought Chuck, but didn't say it. "It's no way to live your life, Sarah," he said softly. "And just for the record, I will never betray you."

"I know that...I know that...That's why...I know you won't betray me. Chuck, you are extraordinary. You are genuinely good. An actual, honest to God good person. You have no idea how rare that is, not just in the spy world, but in the real world too. And to have been burned by so many people...so many important people in your life and still come at the world with the good trusting attitude that you have is incredible. But my experiences have led me to different conclusions." Chuck wondered, if they stayed together long enough, would he ever learn of the betrayals, disappointments and pain that led her to those conclusions. "I don't open up to people." She stopped pacing and put both hands to the sides of her head in frustration. "Not easily...not ever, really. Even this conversation...I've never had a conversation like this in my life...I can't believe I'm having it now, to tell the truth...You seem to have some crazy influence on me. You make me talk about things, think about things...Chuck, I'm not too good at this, at talking about my feelings."

The conversation had clearly gone off on a tangent. And, to make it worse, it was a tangent that upset Sarah. "Well, I don't want to change a thing about you and I don't want you to be uncomfortable. We can come back to questions of trust and the innate goodness of mankind another time, after we've both had the opportunity to re-read St. Augustine," he said with a small smile. Despite herself, Sarah chuckled a little. Chuck had to give her some respite from the heavy conversation they had been sharing. Ha, he thought, let's talk about murder to lighten the mood. "Let's get to a specific example of trust. Casey didn't kill Zarnow."

"We went over this. The incinerator..."

"I know. The incinerator. Do you know how many incinerators the NSA has in Los Angeles? I do. There are five."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because while you were away, Casey and I arranged for me to get access to both the NSA an CIA computer systems. I'm an analyst now for both organizations, so I get both clearances. I spent all afternoon trying to figure this out. Morgan covered for me at the Buy More. I assumed that, being a government agency, they would have a log book for their stuff. Governments, bureaucracies, like to keep track of their stuff. They run audits and things like that. There is a log book and I can access it remotely. None of the incinerators have been checked out in the last year. And there is no record of John Casey ever removing one from an NSA inventory, in Los Angeles or anywhere else for that matter."

"But it's an NSA device..."

"Right, so nobody but the NSA has access to it. It's a clear fingerprint from those guys. Except it's not. Eighteen months ago a crate of these things went missing in Houston. There's an ongoing investigation right now to try to find them. The NSA never said anything about it. My guess is because they were embarrassed. Since then incinerators are suspected of having been used in a drug hit in Bogata, the disappearance of a Russian agent in the South of France, and a pretty gruesome murder of a wife and her lover outside of Bangkok. They are floating around the black market right now. I don't even have to use the Intersect to figure any of this out. I just read the NSA files."

"Ok, Chuck, but you're a smart guy. You know all you did is expand the list of suspects. You didn't clear Casey. He and I were the only ones who knew Zarnow was coming here."

"You keep saying that, but it's not true. Casey only found out about Zarnow's visit the same time I did, earlier that day. And really, there were many more people who knew. Both Beckman and Graham knew. Members of their staff probably knew. Zarnow himself knew. God knows how many people he told. The NSA travel office, or whatever, they knew too."

"The Intersect is way beyond top secret. None of those people would know why he was here."

"So? Who says he was killed because of the Intersect? He worked for the NSA a while, right? His murder could have been unrelated to the Intersect. Hell, it could have been a jealous husband. I didn't see him, maybe he was a lothario."

She made a face. "Ok, not a lothario. My point is you made a whole bunch of assumptions to point the finger at Casey. Assumptions that don't stand up to scrutiny. In any event, it couldn't have been Casey. He has an alibi."

"Chuck, you know alibi witnesses can lie."

"Not these alibi witnesses."

"Why? Who are they?"

"Us. You and me. We were with him during the only window of time the incinerator could have been put into Zarnow's car. Right? Think about it. We were in the Buy More when Zarnow arrived. When the test ended, at around 10:30 or quarter to eleven, Zarnow left. You, me and Casey stayed to put the Home Theater room back to normal. We didn't leave until 11:15 or so. By that time, Zarnow was gone."

"You assume he was gone."

"Nope, I know he was gone. According to the preliminary police report, which I also accessed through the NSA, witnesses heard the crash at 11:45 last night. From the Buy More to the crash site up in the hills is at least a 45 minute drive. Minimum. There's no way he was still there when we left the Buy More. He would never have made it to the crash site by the time of the crash. Can't get a better alibi than us, right?"

Sarah stood silently looking out the window for a long time. Hugging herself with her arms crossed under her breasts. Finally, she let out a long sigh. "Right...right...Oh, shit...you were right and I was wrong...I was wrong to suspect Casey. Godammit. How could I have been so stupid? Jumped to that conclusion? Godammit. I'm sorry, Chuck. I was acting like an idiot. Casey didn't kill Zarnow."

She took out her phone and entered a number. "Walker secure...It wasn't Casey... Somebody was trying to set us at each other's throats. ...yeah, it almost worked...Chuck figured it out...No, he didn't flash it, he just figured it out...Yeah, I know...Right." She broke the connection.

She went to the MP-5 on the bed and engaged the safety. Unscrewing the silencer from the end of the stubby barrel, she said, "Graham says we are lucky to have you. He's right. I'm lucky too. Thank you, Chuck." She gave him a kiss and removed the full magazine from the bottom of the weapon.

"No worries, Sarah. It's what partners do for each other, right? Second set of eyes. Talk through thorny problems." She jacked back the slide and ejected the single round she had kept in the chamber.

"Right. Good partners, anyway. So, now that we know it wasn't Casey, how do we figure out what the hell happened to Zarnow?" She took a gun case from the closet and began to put away the weapon.

"I don't know, but a good start is that we do it together, as a team."

He opened the door to the corridor and there stood Casey, still in his Buy More uniform, who said, in greeting, simply, "Walker. Bartowski."

.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hey, Mr. Warner. You own this IP. Could you get with your siblings and make a Chuck movie, please? Seriously, it's about time. Ms. Strahovski is now a mom, so that would fit right in with what I envision for Sarah. And, while you are at it, hire some of the writers here to pen the screenplay. (Not me, of course. I feel a little awkward about self-promotion, but some of my friends here for sure.) The guys you were using towards the end botched the job something major.

Anyone looking for canon in this chapter will be disappointed.

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Chuck opened the door to the corridor and there was Casey, still in his Buy More uniform. Casey said, in greeting, simply, "Walker. Bartowski."

He stepped into the hotel room watching Sarah begin to stow her MP-5 in the gun case. He raised a single eyebrow. "That was for me," he growled without ire. It was not a question. He took the full clip from the bed and began to eject shells from the top of the magazine with his thumb. The bullets fell onto the bedspread with a clicking-clinking noise. He did it as a matter of habit. Leaving a magazine fully loaded for extended periods tends to weaken its spring and lead to misfires. Casey didn't like misfires.

"Yeah," said Sarah, looking away.

"You thought I killed Zarnow," he said.

"Yes. I did. I'm sorr..."

"Why?" he asked.

She handed him the baggie with the incinerator. "I found this at the wreck. I'm sorr.."

He cut her off again with a single raised hand. "No apologies necessary. I would have drawn the same conclusion you did if the situation was reversed. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you, Casey. Thank you. Chuck set me straight."

Casey turned to Chuck, "That why to told me to wait in the lobby and then come upstairs to wait in the hall?"

"Yes, it is," replied Chuck.

"Thanks. Good job," said Casey to Chuck, with a friendly pat on his shoulder that left Chuck rubbing his arm and mouthing 'Ow'.

Sarah said, "Graham just told me we were lucky to have Chuck." She put the gun case in the closet.

"For once in his life, Graham is right," said Casey. "But enough of this love-fest. What are we going to do about Zarnow getting himself barbequed?" Casey grabbed the chair from the vanity along one wall and dropped it near the table by the window. He crossed one leg over the other. Chuck and Sarah sat down in the other two chairs.

"Let's start with this. Can you guys explain this thing to me?" Chuck said, holding up the incinerator.

"It produces a flash fire hot enough to vaporize organic material," said Casey.

"Right, I got that bit from the Intersect. What's it used for, though?"

"Any number of things. Destroying evidence that there was a killing at all. Hiding the identity of the dead guy. Sterilizing the scene if there were dangerous biologics, like a virus, present."

"So why use it here? None of those reasons apply, so far as we know," asked Chuck.

"Dead is dead. Why not use it?" asked Casey with a shrug.

"I don't know. Expense for one. Got to be cheaper to use a bullet. No?"

"Chuck's on the right track, Casey. It's a specialized tool. Hard to find, expensive, and tricky to use effectively. Why don't they want us to find Zarnow's body? What did he have on him or with him that should remain secret?"

"Well, his notes were on his computer," said Casey. "But they're fried now."

"Yeah, but C-4 could have taken care of that. And anyway, wouldn't the bad guys have wanted those notes intact to find the Intersect? Assuming this had something to do with the Intersect, of course."

"Was he sick?" asked Chuck.

"Didn't seem to be. Why?" asked Sarah.

"Biologics. A virus or something? Will there be any DNA left in the car? Are these things," he held up the incinerator, "really 100% efficient?"

"In the right conditions they are," said Casey. "Interior of a vehicle would be perfect conditions. No wind, limited dispersal radius. There won't be anything left to find."

"Casey," said Sarah thoughtfully. "Did you smell him?" When Casey raised an eyebrow questioning what she meant, she continued, "Did you smell Zarnow? At the site. All I remember is the smell of burned rubber and metal. No roasted meat smell. No smell of a charred corpse."

Chuck looked slightly sick. He asked, "How do you know what a charred corpse smells like?" Both Casey and Sarah just looked at him. "Oh, right. Never mind. I'm better off not knowing."

"Yeah, kid, you probab..." said Casey.

"He's not dead," said Chuck suddenly, interrupting Casey. "That's why they used the incinerator. To hide the fact that he was kidnapped. Come on guys, you've both seen this on TV." They looked at him blankly. "Well, I mean, I think you have. No body ergo the dead guy isn't dead. Every TV show for the last 30 years, that's the rule. No body, no death. He comes back in the last 10 minutes of the episode."

"This isn't a TV show, moron," said Casey.

But then Casey and Sarah were silent for a few moments, when Sarah said, "Makes sense."

"Kidnap him, fake his death with the incinerator," said Casey. "No one even expects to find a body, so there's no need to find a replacement corpse. Everybody is looking for a murderer, and meantime Zarnow is being asked a bunch of hard questions."

"Can we think of any evidence that leads us either way? I mean other than neither of you smelling Zarnow, which is totally gross by the way, and which they couldn't avoid if it were a kidnapping. I mean other than dropping a side of beef in the passenger seat, which Zarnow would probably notice."

"Third option," said Sarah. "He did it himself. Faked his own death for some reason."

"He's not going to walk out of the hills," said Chuck.

"An accomplice. Or a pre-positioned car," said Casey. "That's how I'd handle it."

"Ok," said Sarah. "Three options. Murdered. Kidnapped. Faked it. Any more ideas?" Into the silence, she said, "Ok, then let's figure this out. We'll hit the evidence. Chuck should see it all, in case he flashes. Casey, why don't you and I look at the police report, since Chuck has already seen it. Chuck, you can start on Zarnow's CIA file. Then we can all check out Zarnow's NSA file on Chuck's laptop."

As Chuck moved to start up his laptop, Sarah went across the room to the wall safe and opened it to remove the Zarnow file. Casey waited for them and thought idly to himself, it's a strong team. Catching sight of something in the corner he asked, "Where'd you get the goldfish?"

"Chuck bought it for me. He thought I needed a pet," Sarah said with a small smile as she dropped the file on the table.

Chuck said, "I bought it at Large Mart." He was logging on to the NSA system. Once on, it didn't take him too long to find the investigation into Zarnow's death and the preliminary police report. He twisted the laptop around so Sarah and Casey could see the screen and said, "Here you go."

As they started to read the report, he flipped the CIA file around towards him and opened the cover. On the inside front cover of the file were several pictures of Zarnow. Chuck flashed. Casey noticed first and nudged Sarah, gesturing toward Chuck with his chin. They waited for him to come back to them.

His eyes re-focused on them, but they looked stunned, like he'd seen a ghost. He took the file in his hands and frantically turned to the end, to the last pages of the collection of papers. Glancing at them he said, with a little panic, "Oh shit, oh shit...Oh shit. Guys, Zarnow is bad. He's been selling our scientific secrets to the North Koreans for years. A defector last year identified him to a CIA interrogator. It's in the Intersect, but it's not in this file," Chuck waved the papers in his hand. "It should be here. The report of that interrogation should be here at the end of the file, but somebody seems to have removed it from the file after it was scanned for the Intersect coding."

"Not possible, kid. The CIA would have told us if we had a traitor in the ranks. They would have loved to embarrass us. We would have dealt with him right away. We wouldn't let him get within a million miles of the Intersect project or anything else."

"They did tell you, Casey. Part of the file in the Intersect is a note of a communication transmitting this information to the NSA."

"Wait a second, Chuck. Are you telling us that someone in the CIA doctored the files to protect Zarnow and someone else in the NSA spiked any follow up after the CIA notified them that Zarnow was bad?" asked Sarah, a note of incredulity in her voice. "That's crazy. That's like paranoid conspiracy stuff."

"I know. It's Three Days of the Condor type scary." Seeing the blank looks they gave him, he said, "Movie from the '70's? Robert Redford versus the CIA? Never mind."

"Focus, kid," said Casey.

"Yes, Sarah. That's exactly what I'm telling you. When I flash it's like I can see the information in my head. I'm looking at the report of the interrogation and the list of names of the traitors. I'm looking at the note that they informed the NSA. I'm looking at it in my head, but it's not here." He jabbed a finger at the file in front of him. "Why would that information be in the Intersect, but not in this file?"

"I didn't like the guy. He rubbed me the wrong way, but, still, I don't know about this," admitted Sarah. She and Casey were looking at each other with increasingly troubled stares. "Are you sure? Could you have made a mistake?"

"I haven't so far. All my flashes have been accurate," he said with a shrug.

"Dammit, kid... What a goddam messed-up situation. What do you think, Walker?"

"I think a messed-up situation is an understatement, Casey. This is huge...and really, really scary. The immediate question is, do we tell Beckman and Graham? Can we trust them? They sent Zarnow to us, after all."

"True, but that doesn't prove anything. They could very well be as much in the dark as anyone. Zarnow was working for the Agency, my Agency, for years and nobody knew he was bad. Still doesn't answer the main question, though. Can we trust Beckman and Graham?" said Casey.

"Beckman OR Graham," suggested Chuck. "Maybe one and not both?"

"Maybe," said Casey, with a nod.

"What's our choice? Try to track this down on our own, from here? No help from them? Keeping our investigation of rogue spies in both the CIA and NSA under the table? Secret even from them? That won't work. I think..." She stood looking out at the sunset for a bit and then finished her sentence. "I think we take the chance. If they are baddies...well, it's been nice knowing you both."

"Ok," said Casey. "I agree. Chuck?"

Momentarily startled by the use of his first name (he wasn't even sure Casey knew his first name), he said, "Me?"

"Yeah" said Casey. "You're part of this team. What do you think?"

"Thanks. Yeah, Casey, I agree. Let's tell them."

"Ok. Casey text Beckman and I'll text Graham. We'll tell them we need a conference call from a totally secure location asap." They did so. Beckman and Graham must have been together because it was only a few minutes later that the screen on Chuck's computer activated and both directors were there.

Sarah took the lead, "Director Graham, General Beckman, when Chuck saw Zarnow's picture in his file he flashed on the results of the interrogation of a North Korean defector from last year. The defector named Zarnow as a traitor who had been selling US scientific secrets to the North Koreans for years. The Intersect also indicated that this information had been shared with the NSA. But none of this information was in the CIA's Zarnow file that you provided to me earlier in the week, Director."

Beckman looked angry and frustrated, but not surprised. Graham looked a little resigned, almost tired. "Well, that's the confirmation you were insisting upon, General. Right there."

"Damn it. I had hoped..." she glanced at Casey, Sarah and Chuck. Given the enormity of the conversation, Sarah was doing her best not to be distracted by trying to figure out where the camera Beckman was looking at was located. Beckman continued, "Director Graham and I have had our suspicions for months about a brewing conspiracy within the intelligence community. It seems your information today confirms it. This is obviously a huge problem and the first step in addressing it is knowing who to trust."

"Chuck, you couldn't possibly be in on any such conspiracy, having been a civilian until just last week. Casey and Walker, the very fact that you brought this to us the moment you discovered it puts you both in the clear," said Graham. "Thank you all for doing that. Thank you for trusting us. It must not have been an easy decision."

"You're welcome," said Sarah. Casey grunted.

"Going forward you three will clearly be on the front lines in solving this problem. We are going to have to start some inquiries here in DC. Very discreet inquiries. In the meantime, Zarnow is our best lead as to who is involved," said Beckman.

"So, what do we have on the Zarnow killing?" said Graham.

Sarah said, "Not too much. We have limited it to three possibilities. He was murdered. He was kidnapped. He faked it to go underground. What we don't know is if whatever happened to him had anything to do with his meeting with us here in Burbank...with the Intersect."

Beckman said, "LAPD can handle the murder investigation. It's outside your skill set anyway. We'll give them necessary assistance. You focus on the last two possibilities and assume it had to do with the Intersect. If it was something else from his past, we'll need a much bigger team to sift through leads, so we'll assign some others to that task, others with no need to know about the Intersect. Assume he was kidnapped or faked it. He was a traitor...so, I like the last possibility, but explore them both. We need to find him, and find him alive and talking. We need to know who has been helping him."

"Good luck, Team Bartowski," said Graham and cut the connection.

"'Team Bartowski'? What the hell? What about Team Casey? Sounds much better," said Casey.

"I don't know, Casey. I think Team Bartowski sounds pretty good," said Chuck. Sarah just smiled.

"You are definitely letting this go to your head, kid. I think I like Team Moron better," said Casey. Chuck grinned.

"Ok," said Sarah. "Brainstorm with me, guys. Who might take him? Or, why would Zarnow fake his own death, if that's the direction we head?"

"Easy answer," said Casey. "Sale of secrets. There's nothing more secret than him," he pointed to Chuck. "Want to sell secrets? The ultimate payday. That's the mother lode. Everything we've got in one package. Whether someone wants to use him to get to Bartowski or he just wants the freedom to do it himself, the results the same."

"That argues in favor of him doing it himself. Unless he blabbed about the Intersect and his new patient to someone he shouldn't have," said Chuck.

"Yeah. I agree with Beckman that he's probably done this himself. He seemed more than eager...thrilled, even, that all the images made it into one head. And did seem to want to know his patient's identity. Damn, that guy was creepy. So, let's run with that. Zarnow or whoever has him is interested in getting to Chuck. He's taken or fakes his death and goes underground. What next? What's the next step?"

"A third party group would squeeze him for information right away. If he's doing this himself, though, he contacts the North Koreans to get them on board, basically setting up a fence to buy the stolen secrets, maybe get some muscle from them. Then he comes after us. You or me...or both," said Casey. "We are the key to the identity of the Intersect."

"I agree. So, we have to be ready and waiting when he shows up. Then we can get him," said Sarah.

"Better idea is to use one of us as bait. Draw him in more quickly. Set a trap," said Casey.

"Good idea. Let's do that," said Sarah. "I should be the bait. Just about all men underestimate a girl."

"No," said Chuck. "I can be the bait. You guys are uber-competent to protect me. If you're the bait, you really only have Casey protecting you."

"No, Bartowski. That's a terrible plan. You're not the bait. You are the actual Intersect. That's not the way bait works, for God's sake. I can be the bait. I'm kind of looking forward to the SOB coming for me."

"Ok, guys. We are a new team and can expect to be working together for the next few months. I want to set a ground rule right here, right now. There is no place for chivalry on this team. No protecting the girl because she's a girl. I'm taking chivalry out behind the barn, shooting it, and burying it in an unmarked grave. You both have to accept the fact that I'm going to take just as many risks as anyone else. I've never worked with a team before and, starting with this one, I'm going to nip that in the bud. Capisce?"

"Sarah, I..." started Chuck.

"Capisce?"

"Ok, Walker."

"Ok, Sarah."

"Good," said Sarah. "It makes the most sense for me to be the bait in the Zarnow trap. So, let's come up with a plan." They ordered room service and got started.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, Sarah was running along Canyon Edge Road when she heard in her ear Chuck say, "Whoa. Whoa. Steep hill. Steep hill. Tree branch." It was a deserted rolling road with brownish sandy hills on one side and a steep drop off on the other.

Casey replied, "Skip the running commentary, kid. You aren't a tour guide."

"I know, Casey. I just can't believe that Awesome does this for fun. It's really scary. And strenuous, too."

"Stop whining. You're on a bike at least. Walker is just running up these hills."

"She's in so much better...Oh, oh oh...wait...ah...made it. That was a tricky one. Somebody put a rock..."

For the second day in a row now, they had come up here early in the morning. Chuck and Casey before dawn to set up, then Sarah separately. Chuck had borrowed Devon's bike, explaining that he wanted to try mountain biking a little to see if he liked it. Sarah parked her car and went for a long run along the road. Chuck was a couple of hundred yards from her, up the hill of the steep canyon, on a dirt track running parallel to the road. He could see her clearly, but someone would have to know he was there to see him. He was on lookout in case Zarnow showed up to take the bait. She was seemingly alone, seemingly unarmed, in an isolated location on a road perfect for a quick getaway. Casey was parked a few miles down the road, on a side road and couldn't been seen from the main road itself. If Zarnow was after them, this is where he would try to get to Sarah. At least, that's what they were counting on.

"Bartowski, it's a good thing it's only us on this frequency. Your rambling would give anyone else a headache."

"Oh, skidding..."

"I can't deal with this anymore. Walker, you deal with him."

"Oh, come on, Casey...oh, watch out...watch out."

It was going to be a very hot day with no breeze, but had not yet become oppressive. What was that expression?, Sarah mused. Women glow, men perspire and horses sweat. Well, she was certainly glowing, that was for sure. She felt her singlet sticking to her torso.

"Ah," she heard Chuck say followed by a grunt and another "Ahh."

"You ok, Chuck?"

"Yeah. I fell, but I'm ok. Wait, I think I skinned my knee. Yup, I'm bleeding. How can Devon do this for fun? This is ridiculous. Casey, do you have any band-aids in the car?"

Casey didn't respond.

Chuck said, "He's mad at me for talking too much."

Sarah ran on for a bit longer and felt a niggling feeling in her gut. "Casey? Casey?" Silence. She stopped running. "Shit. Chuck, check your phone. Where's Casey?

"Hold on...hold on...Oh, shit. He's moving. He's on the main road heading back to town."

"Get back there as quick as you can. I'll do the same." She began to run to the spot where Casey had parked.

Chuck arrived first and told her, "Car is still there, but there's no sign of Casey."

She arrived a few minutes later, breathing very hard. Chuck had prudently stayed concealed about fifty yards from the parked car. She said, "Stay here." A knife appeared in her hand as if by magic. She made a wide circle around the car before approaching it. Seeing nothing but a parked car, she moved closer, noting tire tracks, footprints and two parallel lines grooved into the dirt from the driver's side door, as if made by dragged heels.

She motioned Chuck over and said, "They took Casey."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: Come on, guys. I can't be the only one who recognized that the Intersect named Zarnow as a traitor. That means that his traitorous behavior was somehow documented in the CIA or NSA files that became the Intersect. But that's a problem, because it's inconceivable that the CIA wouldn't tell the NSA about a traitor in their ranks and the NSA would obviously clean its own house if it knew. And Sarah had the physical file itself which didn't show her that information. So, what happened to the information that Chuck flashed on when he saw Zarnow? This gives one explanation (but not the only one, as Marc Vun Kannon has pointed out to me during the development of this story).


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: How can one own an idea? For isn't that what Chuck and Sarah are, ideas? Nay, actually, ideals. That men and women can rise above...Oh, to hell with it...Don't own Chuck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ow," said Sarah. "You did that on purpose."

"I did not. The road has holes. It's not my fault."

"Well, steer around them. Isn't that what the handlebars are for? Steering? Ow."

"I'm trying, but it's hard to see over your shoulder. Lean back more." She was perched on the handlebars of Devon's bike, her long bare legs stretched out in front of her and spread for balance and her upper body leaning back towards Chuck. Both hands held the bars next to her butt in a death grip.

"You know I'm going to have handlebar shaped bruises on my tush when this is over...watch out...and it's all your fault for hitting these holes."

"I promise to rub the bruises and make you feel all better."

"I might just punish you for this by not letting you rub them at all. What do you think of that, Mister?"

"I think you're gonna make me beg...ah, sorry about that one."

"Yeah, ya think? Ugh."

"You don't have a ton of padding down there. Probably makes it hurt more."

"Are you telling me I have a skinny ass?" She sounded annoyed.

"No. Of course not. It's not skinny."

"Wait. What? Is it fat?"

"No...no...it's perfect...absolutely perfect. You're killing me here." Had he been able to see her eyes, he would have seen the sparkle of humor. They rode for a while longer.

"You know, I really should have gotten my car retrofitted to be operational instead of civilian," she said.

"I know, you said that." Casey's car had been securely locked and, when they got to her car all four tires had been flattened. "But even if it had the run-flat tires, they just would have done something else to mess it up."

"Probably...Want to check your phone? See if we have any bars?"

"We just checked a mile or so back." Chuck was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Although Sarah was in better shape than he was, it made no sense for her to pedal given the weight difference between them. "Let's wait til we are past the next turn." He was pushing himself as hard as he could. Casey was in danger and the only way they could help was to get within cell phone range and get a car. After the next turn was a long downslope. They waited until they had arrived at the flat to check the phones again. Two bars.

"Remind me not to do that again," she said.

"Deal. I think I'm off mountain biking, for a while at least."

Sarah got through to a CIA number. "Walker secure...facilities...Field request, priority excelsior...no, no address...track location...Right...get a pencil, one car, no driver so you'll have to send two cars...The one for me is to be an SUV...three tac kits, with one earwig...yeah, just one...and two pairs of pants... yes, pants...one slender waist and very long one small waist and medium length...two weapons kits, with trank guns included...trank guns...water...got that?...read it back to me...Good, further field request priority blue...up the road from my location are two cars." She gave quick descriptions of the cars and their locations. "The Porsche is to be towed to the garage, you'll need a flatbed. It has four flat tires. It's to undergo an operational retrofit...ok...The other car is to be opened and driven to the parking lot of the Buy More store in Burbank and left there with the key in the usual spot..got that? Read it back to me...good...thanks for your help...Walker out."

Holding hands, they sat down next to each other in the sand on the side of the road and waited.

After about twenty minutes a black SUV and a black sedan pulled up. After the requisite confirmatory signals had been exchanged, the driver of the SUV gave Sarah the keys and got into the sedan to be driven further up the road to get Casey's car. Casey's was a CIA company car, so they would have no trouble opening it. The tow truck for Sarah's car would follow somewhat later in the day.

Sarah pulled on the pants they had brought her and was rolling the cuffs up a little. "What should I wear to Ellie's on Friday?"

"Oh, just wear anything. You'll look beautiful whatever you wear."

"No, Chuck, come on. That's not an answer. I'm meeting the most important woman in your life...the most important person in your life...you can't just tell me 'whatever'. That's not the way this works."

He was putting on a tactical vest. "But it's true. We're a super casual family. It's no big deal."

"Oh, God. You are such a guy." She didn't say it like a compliment. "Just give me her number and I'll text her."

"Ok." He reached for his phone.

"Not now, wait until we're done rescuing Casey."

"Oh, ok." He was working Devon's bike into the back of the SUV and watching her strap on a pistol to her right thigh. When she finished he threw her a water bottle. Taking a handful of them in his large hands, he got into the passenger side of the truck.

"Ok," she said. "Navigate for me, please."

"Right. Will do. His signal is stable. Doesn't look like he's moved in a while. It's in Irvine. I can get us there in thirty minutes or so...depending on traffic."

"Ok, let's do it."

Slightly more than a half hour later they stopped a block away from a somewhat dilapidated five story building. Casey was in there somewhere. Unfortunately, they couldn't tell where. The tracking app would be more useful if it could tell us elevation, thought Chuck.

Sarah frowned and said, "Ok. You stay in the car. I'm going to search that building. It's five stories, so it may take a while."

"I'm part of the team. I want to help," he said.

"I know you do, Chuck." She put her hand on his arm. "I know. But there's stuff you can do that Casey and I can't. And I'm not just talking Intersect stuff either. Computer stuff too. Well, this is something I can do that you can't. Not a reflection on you. I have years of training and experience. And don't take this personally, but you would actually be in my way as I'm clearing rooms. Sorry." She spoke kindly and softly.

He realized the truth of what she said. He'd seen on that video clip from the Intersect just how deadly she could be. No matter how many times he'd played Call of Duty, it wouldn't prepare him for what she was about to face, about to do. "Ok, Sarah. I get it. Just please be careful. Please, don't get hurt. And bring back Casey."

"I will. Now give me a kiss."

He kissed her and she left the SUV, jamming a trank pistol into the waistband of her pants. Running across the empty street, she went up the short flight of stairs and entered the front of the building with her pistol held high up in front of her in both hands. Chuck sat in the car as ordered. "Alright. Alright. Now we wait." Not five minutes later he saw Zarnow and another man walk out a basement door of the building and disappear around a corner.

"Sarah," he said, hoping she could hear him in her earwig. "Sarah." Silence. What should he do? Follow orders and stay in the car? "Stay in the car," he repeated to himself. "Stay in the car." Should he just keep repeating Sara's name into the void hoping she'd eventually hear him? "Do not leave the car." She went in the front door. She was probably heading upstairs to clear the building. Call her or text her and risk her phone making a noise and revealing her to bad guys? Zarnow had come out a basement door. What if Casey was in the basement and Sarah was on the top floor? "Do not leave the car." What if Zarnow came back and hurt Casey while Sarah was still looking for him?

While he was still debating with himself, he realized he had left the car and was running to the basement door. He tried to open it as quietly as possible, but it let out a loud grinding noise as the rusty hinges fought the movement. He slipped inside and closed it behind him with the same grinding. Chuck was glad Zarnow was outside and hoped he didn't have any friends inside.

He was in a dimly lit cluttered basement. Dust swam in the air. Overhead pipes and conduits, exposed ceiling, bare light bulbs hanging from braided electrical wires so old their insulation was cloth instead of rubber. As he moved into a larger room from the corridor, he saw Casey. He was standing in roughly the center of the room with his hands above him handcuffed to a pipe. His mouth was covered by a strip of grey duct tape. He had a growing bruise on the side of his face with a small cut in the center of it, leaking a little blood.

Casey caught sight of Chuck and motioned him over with a wag of his head. Chuck rushed to the large man's side and pulled the tape from his face. Casey said, "Handcuff key taped to the back of my belt on the inside. Get it and give it to me." As Chuck found the key and used a fingernail to peel up the tape, he heard the grinding of the door hinges again. Casey continued in a fierce whisper, "Hide. Keep Sarah away and for God's sake be quiet. Really quiet."

Chuck handed him the key, and said, "Here, here."

"Put your hands over your mouth if you have to. Now go," said Casey.

Chuck said, "The tape" and put it back on Casey's mouth. He scurried over to a few boxes along one wall and hid behind them. He immediately took out his phone and set it on silent.

Zarnow and the other man walked into the room. Chuck noticed that the man with Zarnow was big and was wearing the uniform of an officer with the California Highway Patrol, but he was wearing it half-assed, with the shirt untucked and halfway open. The man was smoking a joint and was obviously not a CHP officer. Probably just a henchman, thought Chuck. But this explained how Casey had been taken. He'd opened his car window to a CHP officer and been tranked. Zarnow looked like his pictures and was carrying what appeared to be a large tranquilizer device with a ridiculously long needle. Chuck shuddered at the sight of the needle.

"The truck is ready, Agent Casey," said Zarnow. "This is your last chance. We are going to a special facility where they are going to torture you. Really torture. Not this child's play. Or you could just tell me, who is the Intersect?" The last words were ground out through gritted teeth.

Zarnow raised the needle and Chuck said, "Oh crap," but both of Chuck's hands were over his mouth and no one heard.

As the needle approached Casey and Zarnow and the fake officer stood closely by him, Casey said, through the gag, "OK."

"What?" said Zarnow in surprise.

"OK," said Casey, muffled by the gag.

Zarnow stepped forward and ripped the tape off Casey's face. With a satisfied smirk, Zarnow said, "So, Agent Casey that's a smart...UURRRKKK."

Casey's right hand closed over Zarnow's throat cutting off all noise. His left hand wrapped around Zarnow's hand on the tranquilizer device, jammed the needle into the fake cop, and triggered its discharge into the man. The fake cop fell to the ground with a thud, unconscious. Chuck stood up smiling. Casey yanked Zarnow close to him as if to speak into his ear, but looked right at Chuck when he said, "Shut up. Don't say a word and don't move." Chuck nodded silently. He squatted back down and took out his phone.

He texted Sarah. **FOUND C IN BASEMENT. HE'S OK. DO NOT COME HERE. HE'S UP TO SOMETHING.**

 **Z IS UP TO SOMETHING?** Texted Sarah.

 **NO, C. C HAS Z.** replied Chuck.

Casey said to Zarnow as he ground out the smoldering joint under his heel, "So Doc, my friend the Intersect tells me you have been selling our science secrets to the North Koreans for years. How about that? Make a lot of money?"

"Urrkkk," replied Zarnow as he pawed feebly at Casey's arm. It felt to Zarnow like the arm of a steel robot.

"I'm going to release your throat so we can talk. Ok?"

Zarnow nodded somewhat desperately. Casey let him go.

 **COMING DOWN** texted Sarah.

The dust got into Chuck's nose and he had to pinch his nose closed to stop a sneeze.

 **NO. STAY AWAY. C'S OK. DON'T KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING THO. WAIT.**

"So, Zarnow, you have the North Koreans lined up to buy the Intersect, right?"

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"You want the money. Right?"

"What?" asked Zarnow.

"The money, moron. Look, do you have a buyer or not?"

"Yes," said Zarnow, confused, but intrigued at the same time.

"Right. So, I have the Intersect and you have the buyer. We're like Blondie and Duco from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Reluctant partners. Neither of us gets the money without the other."

"What do you mean, Agent Casey? You would betray your country for money?"

"Why not? You did. And it sure as shit wouldn't be the first time I did. I have a nice bank account held in one of those Caribbean islands with loose banking laws. I had a very smart set of lawyers in Panama set it all up for me. Totally bullet proof. How much are you getting from the North Koreans?"

Zarnow got a shifty look in his eyes and said, "A million."

"Dollars or Euros?"

"Dollars," said Zarnow.

"Ok, I'll take the million."

"What? You can't take all the money. You'll leave nothing for me."

 **HE'S MAKING Z THINK HE WILL SELL ME OUT FOR $1M**

"Jeez, Doc. You must think I'm a total idiot. Do you really think I'd believe you when you said a million? If you told me a million, you are getting at least two. At least. A million is fine for me. Puts me over the top. I can retire after this one. Get out of this line of work. Stop spending my time killing people for Uncle Sam."

 **WHAT?! WHY?** Texted Sarah

"I don't' trust you, though," said Zarnow.

"Why? Am I going to arrest you?" Casey's hand moved so fast Zarnow couldn't even see it and he found himself suddenly grasped by the shoulder in a grip of iron. "Seriously, Doc. If I was going to arrest you, you'd be lying on the floor in those handcuffs right now." Zarnow nodded at the logic of the statement. Casey released him.

"I must say, I'm surprised, Casey. You don't have this reputation."

"Good," said Casey. "I wouldn't welcome the scrutiny. Look, I'm a capitalist, Doc. Free markets. Supply and demand. These commie bastards want to buy something from me...from us...I say we sell it, if the price is right. One million is my price. So long as their money is green, I couldn't care less if their hearts are red." Casey chuckled at his small joke.

"Ok, Casey. So, let's say we are reluctant partners. Tell me, then. Who is the Intersect?"

"You don't get it, do you, Doc. Really you should go home and watch the movie. Clint Eastwood. A classic. I'll bet you can get it on Netflix. Do they have Netflix in your hideout? They each have information the other lacks so they have to rely on each other. But if they share that information, they no longer need each other and the partnership is over. You don't get to find out who the Intersect is until I get my million dollars."

 **DUNNO. STAY TUNED. BUT IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING** texted Chuck **.**

 **? Z IS THE MISSION**

"Here's what we're gonna do, Doc. You're gonna contact the North Koreans and tell them you have the Intersect. Not an agent like me they can torture to find the Intersect, but the real deal. The actual Intersect. You want all the money in exchange. Pick a place that's safe for us. I'll bring the Intersect, you bring the Koreans with their money. We make the exchange and everyone leaves happy."

"They are on a ship offshore," said Zarnow. "We can make the exchange there."

"How many PhD's do you have?"

"Three," said Zarnow, with a self-satisfied air.

"Well for a guy with three PhD's, you're pretty freaking stupid. I'm willing to bet military science was not one of your PhD's. You don't take the Intersect to them off shore. You want you and me to be spending eternity together on the bottom of LA harbor?"

"I've dealt with them before. They are trustworthy, Casey."

"You ever sell them anything with this price tag?"

Zarnow paused, "No. No, I haven't."

"Don't you think it's cheaper for them to kill you and keep the money? Which wouldn't bother me at all except they'd kill me too. So, here's what we're going to do. You and I pick a place. Safe for us. Exits and that kind of thing. We get there first so they can't set an ambush. They arrive with a truck to take away the Intersect and bring our money. Make the exchange and everybody leaves happy. Like I said, capitalism."

"it's a lot of money, Casey. They aren't going to want to trust it to flunkies. The senior guys will want to bring it themselves. That's going to make them nervous. They will be the one's worried about an ambush."

"These guys RGB?" asked Casey, referring to the North Korean intelligence agency, the Reconnaissance General Bureau.

"Yes," answered Zarnow.

"Don't worry about it then. Those guys have balls. Doc, you have a track record with them. You ever try to screw them?"

"Of course, not. They scare me."

"Good. They should. They scare me too and I don't scare easy. That's why we have to do things my way. I want to be living a life of luxury when this thing is all over, not looking over my shoulder for the next commie assassin hired to take me out."

 **OMG. C WANTS THE NK'S TOO. HE'S SETTING UP Z'S BUYER. LOL.** texted Chuck.

 **OL?** Texted Sarah.

 **OK, NOT OL. BUT INSIDE** , texted Chuck adding a little smiley face emoji. She texted back a heart. So, he texted back two hearts. That went on for a while between them.

"How long will it take you to get the Intersect?" asked Zarnow.

"I can set it up for tomorrow night."

"What about Walker? Will you kill her?"

"What? Hell, no. I like her. She makes me laugh. Naw, I can just trank her. I'll trank myself too after I've got the money. She and I wake up and the Intersect is gone. Bad on us. We screwed up our mission, but shit happens. Black mark on my record. Whatever. I couldn't care less at that point."

"Ok, Casey. Let's do this. I'll contact them and tell them the good news. You make your plans to get the Intersect ready. How do we reach each other?" asked Zarnow.

"Give me the number of your burner. When I get to a burner of my own, I'll text you so you'll have my number."

"You don't have a burner?"

"I don't have one on me, moron. You expect me to whip it out of my ass? Or maybe my utility belt? Jeez, Doc."

"Ok," said Zarnow and gave Casey the number, which Casey instantly memorized. So did Chuck.

"Alright. We'll be in contact to pick a place for the exchange. In the meantime, you've got to get out of here. My guys are going to be looking for me and I don't want them to find you. What's his name?" asked Casey, gesturing to the man on the floor.

"Frank. But he's just hired muscle. I don't care about him."

"That's no way to lead men, Doc. In any case, I don't give a damn if you double date or send him Christmas cards. Bring him tomorrow night. I don't want to be schlepping the Intersect by myself. I'd like another strong pair of hands to help, and, no offense, Doc, but you don't look like you do a lot of manual labor."

With a cold smile, Zarnow said, "I do not. Fine, I'll go now."

Casey bent down and shook Frank. "Frank? Frank? Wake up, big guy." There was no reaction.

"Forget it, Casey. He'll be out for at least another two hours."

"OK." Casey grabbed Frank and heaved him up. Bending, he dropped the unconscious man over one shoulder and straightened. Frank was a big man and it was a pretty impressive feat of strength. "Where's your car?" asked Casey. He seemed unfazed by the weight he was carrying.

"Back of the building. Come on." Zarnow led the way outside, through the noisy door and around the corner. He opened the back door of a nondescript sedan and Casey carefully lowered Frank into the back. He tucked the man's legs in and closed the door.

"Casey," said Zarnow, "Can you introduce me to your Panamanian lawyers? I'm going to need some help going forward."

"Sure, Doc. No worries. I'll bring the contact info to the meet. Good luck with the Koreans."

"And good luck with the Intersect." The men shook hands. Zarnow got in his car and drove away. Casey watched until he lost sight of the car and went back to the basement door. Opening it, he gave a loud two-tone whistle.

Chuck and Sarah emerged into the morning light. Sarah looked like she was trying to be annoyed, but wanted to smile at the same time. "You let him go?"

"What, Walker? You never freestyle?" They began to walk to the car.

"What if he bolts? Our mission was to get him."

"I dropped a tracker in his coat pocket. We can follow him."

"Well," said Chuck, "At least we can follow his coat."

Casey looked at Chuck and said, "I've never liked you."

Chuck laughed. Casey continued, "And another tracker on Frank and one on the car. Besides, now we have proof he's alive. How long could he really run from us?"

"So, we set up to catch a handful of North Korean spies operating on US soil in addition to Zarnow?" asked Sarah.

"Yup. I'm greedy...and I really hate North Koreans."

They got in the car. "Ok, Casey. I like it. This could be fun," said Sarah.

"My thoughts exactly."

"Casey," said Chuck, "do you always carry a concealed handcuff key on you?"

"No, Kid...I usually carry four concealed handcuff keys...and several concealed razor blades. You never know."

"He's right Chuck. Depending on what I'm wearing, I'll carry several as well," said Sarah.

After a little while, Casey said, "Don't want to be mean here, but you two smell like old sweat socks."

"I smell like sweat socks?" asked Sarah with amused surprise.

"Not just any sweat socks. Old sweat socks. Really ripe ones. You two have to go take showers."

Sarah looked at Chuck and cocked an eyebrow, her blue eyes sparkling with humor. She said, "Plural?"

Casey said, "Oh, God. If you don't stop flirting with each other in my presence, I'm going to jam pencils in my ears."

Chuck and Sarah just laughed.

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A/N2: For anyone who is interested, the whole "heroes using trank guns thing" originated in the early 1930's with the grandfather of all superheroes, Doc Savage. Doc was a two-fisted adventurer saving the world from assorted villains and bad guys, but he was also a scientific genius and a world-renowned medical doctor. As a doctor, he had strict rules about taking the life of the villains and henchmen he faced. He and his men all loaded their weapons with so-called "mercy bullets" of his own design, which were, for all intents and purposes, the trank darts that Chuck and his friends use in the show. Not too much love for Doc on this site, but well worth checking out elsewhere someday.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: If we lived a quantum world, I could both own Chuck and not own Chuck at the same time. Weird, right?

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The exchange was set for 9:30 that evening. Sarah and Casey had assembled a small team of agents to help them take down the North Korean spies. The three members of Team Bartowski, together with four other agents, were assembled at an NSA staging area, a cavernous building in Hollywood that was generally assumed by the public to be a part of one of the movie studios. Huge cargo doors were open along one side, letting in the cooling evening air. Casey was dressed in civilian clothes, but the rest of them wore black tactical gear complete with vests.

Chuck was the only one without weapons. Casey had an UZI submachine gun sitting on the table next to him with a long sling. Given the role he was playing that evening, he had decided that a single, obvious weapon would be about the right level of defensive preparation. He hoped it conveyed the impression, 'not prepared for a gunfight, but not prepared to be ripped off either'. Sarah had her Smith Wesson 5906 in a thigh holster. In addition, she had obtained a left-handed pancake holster for the small of her back where she was keeping a trank pistol set for a left-hand draw, in case her main weapon was in her right hand when the trank pistol was needed. The other men all had an assortment of weapons, but each had a trank pistol.

One of the agents ended a cell phone call. Casey asked, "Well?"

The man answered with a grin, "We got it. It's on its way. The prop department at Warner Brothers was very accommodating. It should be here soon. They're just down the road. Crazy place that prop department, I hear."

Casey grunted and said, "Good." He walked over to a table where Sarah was studying a floor plan of the Mother of Mercy hospital. When Casey arrived at the table they began to converse in quiet tones, both looking at the plan and pointing to this or that on the page.

Casey and Zarnow had been in touch on and off throughout the day, each checking on the other's progress. He had the Koreans lined up to come with the money. He believed that Casey's plans to capture the Intersect were proceeding perfectly. They debated for a while on the location of the exchange. (Casey was convinced that Zarnow was just a cut out for the Koreans in that part of the discussion). They settled on the Mother of Mercy hospital. Although empty and scheduled for demolition, it still had power. Sarah and Casey were discussing the disposition of their team around and in the building to observe the approach of the Koreans and block any exits they might try to use.

Knowing they were approaching from an offshore ship, the Coast Guard had been alerted to be on the lookout for small boat traffic coming into the harbor from any one of the ships.

A CIA shell company had called the Buy More with an all-day offsite install for Charles Bartowski, and later left a rave review of his performance promising more work of a similar nature to come their way in the near future. Big Mike was a happy man. That left Chuck free to spend the day with Casey and Sarah, working on their plans for the evening.

An agent with vibrant red hair came over to Chuck and said, "Excuse me, you're Carmichael. Right?"

Chuck stood up. The man was about Chuck's height, 6'3", but carried maybe a hundred more pounds on him, none of it fat. His nose appeared to have been broken more than once. "Yes," said Chuck.

"I was at Union Station. I saw what you did. You've got real stones, man. May I shake your hand?"

A clearly surprised Chuck extended his hand into the man's large, powerful grip, "It's an honor, Carmichael. An honor. Serving with men like you makes this job worthwhile." The man looked at Chuck with a serious, but friendly, expression.

"Ummm...thank you...ah...people call me Chuck," he said with a nervous grin. What the hell was happening to him?, he wondered. This whole thing couldn't be real. A part of him thought this might be somebody's idea of a practical joke.

With a smile, the man said, "I'm Liam Fitzpatrick, but people call me Fitz."

"Pleasure to meet you, Fitz." The man nodded and wandered off to check his weapons or something.

Chuck turned away from the others and looked at the blank wall for a few moments. He felt pressure in his eyes of threatening tears. He knew he couldn't let any of the others see that, well, maybe Sarah, but not now. After a few moments the feeling passed. He found himself standing up just a little straighter than a few moments ago, but a corner of his mind reminded him that he still fixed computers at Buy More for a living. He felt a little disjointed, trying to figure out what was real...who he was. Was he Chuck Bartowski, expelled from Stanford, dead end job at a Buy More, pining over Jill? Or was he Chuck Bartowski/Carmichael, part of the Federal team at Union Station, the boyfriend of Sarah Walker, a man who engenders respect in other men? He couldn't be both, of course. The dichotomy was just too extreme. If they were alone, this would be a really good time to talk to Sarah. Or even Casey, actually.

Chuck sat on a box to re-tie his boot lace. The other three agents were behind him, chatting idly in quiet voices while waiting. One said, "No. She's Graham's enforcer. The Angel of Death. She's gorgeous, but she's a freakin' assassin. I'm scared of her. I really am. Straight up. And I don't scare easily."

One of the other agents picked up the conversation, "I heard Graham just points and she shoots. Bang. There's another dead guy. God only knows how many kills she has."

"Not just shoots," says the third agent. "She'll do anything. Guns, knives, bombs...hell, I heard she poisoned an entire table full of people at a restaurant in Paris, the _Maison Gauche_."

Chuck flashed on the name of the restaurant. Pictures of dead bodies at a dinner table. Fake passport. Video footage. Salad dressing. Elana Truffaut. Sarah. Translation of Parisian police report. Five dead. Dread gripped him. Oh, no. Not more, he thought. On top of the three he'd seen her kill in the video clip the day she left for DC. It was too much. And what the men had said about her reputation, her history. Just too much. His heart was breaking.

He stood up and turned to look at the men behind him. When they turned their heads to look at him he said, "You know, if you don't have anything nice to say about someone, you shouldn't say anything at all." He walked back to his laptop to check on the location of Zarnow and Frank. His hands were shaking.

Looking at his computer, he didn't see Fitz make his way to the group of other agents. He didn't hear what Fitz told them. He didn't see Fitz slap one of them on the back of the head really hard. The men began to look back and forth between Sarah and Chuck with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment on their faces. One of them broke off from the group and came over to Chuck. "Agent Carmichael?" he said. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. We didn't mean any disrespect, Sir. I promise that will not happen again. We're very sorry, Sir. All of us."

"Ok. Thanks," said Chuck. As the man walked back to his group Chuck caught Fitz's eye. He nodded his thanks and Fitz nodded back in acknowledgement.

A small truck arrived outside the open cargo doors and two of the agents went to unload it. Once empty, it drove off. They wheeled in a coffin, or at least a coffin sized box. The lid of the box had prominent air holes at one end. Casey walked over to it, opened it and looked inside with what seemed to be reverence. "Ok," he said, "all good. Set it up with M84's." The two agents who had unloaded the truck moved to comply. Once it was ready, they loaded it onto the back of a Ford F-150 pick-up truck and put the collapsible trolley in the bed of the truck next to the box.

With a nod from Casey, Sarah said, in a voice loud enough to command attention. "Guys, listen up." They gathered around her at the table. "It's almost show time, so let's go over the plan one more time. Casey contacts Zarnow and gets the ball rolling. Casey drives to the hospital alone in the pickup. Zarnow and his guy Frank come from Irvine to the exchange site as well, monitored along the way by Carmichael and the tracking devices. Casey meets them outside and Casey and Frank move the box to the main operating room on the fourth floor and he, Frank and Zarnow wait for the Koreans."

Sarah continued, "The Koreans are coming in from an offshore ship. The Coast Guard is on watch for them, but there are too many ships, too spread out, for us to have any chance at close surveillance, so we probably won't have eyes on until they are on the doorstep of the hospital."

"We follow Casey to the hospital in the communications van. Marco, you drive the van and stay with it during the operation. Coordination and overwatch." The man called Marco, who had apologized to Chuck, nodded his understanding. "You park it here," she pointed to a spot on the map. Marco nodded.

"Billy, you drive the detention van." They hoped to have a handful of prisoners by night's end, and had made preparations accordingly. "Leave it a couple of blocks away. Until Zarnow arrives I want you here to observe." She pointed to the map. "Then take up position here," she pointed to the map again, "after Casey and Zarnow go inside, wait and let us know when the Koreans arrive. Once they are inside, move in to this blocking position in the lower stairwell. As the situation develops you can move from there to any number of positions, so be ready for redeployment."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Billy.

"Leo, you come with us into the hospital. I want you here on the fifth floor stairwell. That way, you'll be above us when we confront the Koreans on the fourth floor. Again, like Billy, be ready for redeployment as the situation develops."

"Roger that," said Leo.

"Fitz, you're with me in the scrub room adjacent to the operating room. When it hits the fan, we go in. Chuck, you are here, in the operating room observation gallery on the fifth floor. It's all windows, so you will have to be careful not to be seen from below. You keep us informed of what you see in the room. We will be able to hear Casey, but you will be the only one who will see him."

"Ok, Sarah," said Chuck.

"You, Fitz, Leo and I go in right away and take up our positions before Zarnow arrives. One more thing. If anyone gets shot tonight, we screwed this up. You all have trank pistols. Use them. We really want all these guys alive. Lethal force is permitted to defend yourself or your teammates, but otherwise trank these a-holes. Any questions?"

There were none. "Ok, Casey? Anything to add?"

"Nope. Ready to rock and roll," said Casey.

"Let's do it," said Sarah.

Casey took out his burner phone and pushed a button. "Hey. It's done, Doc. I've got the Intersect. Walker is tranked, so we are on the clock. Your guys better be ready to move...OK. See you in half hour, partner. Prepare to be a rich man. Heh, heh." He disconnected the call and said, "Enjoy your last night of freedom, jackwad."

Without further word, the six of them entered the two vans and followed Casey in the pickup truck through the Los Angeles evening. Using his cell phone as a monitor, Chuck gave everyone a running commentary on the whereabouts of Zarnow and Frank. In a fairly short time, they arrived at the hospital.

Chuck, Sarah, Fitz and Leo entered the building and climbed the stairs. Fitz and Sarah, peeled off at the fourth floor, while Chuck and Leo continued up to the fifth. With a nod, Chuck left Leo in the stairwell and found the operating room observation gallery. Chuck left the lights off in the room. If he was in darkness and the room below was lit, there was less chance of being seen through the reflection of the operating room's own lights.

"Right," said Sarah over the team's communications net. "Everybody in position?" When the entire team had answered affirmatively, she said, "Chuck, where's Zarnow?"

"About three minutes out," replied Chuck. He was very nervous and hoped his voice didn't show it. This was the real deal. He was dressed like a commando and hiding in the dark helping a team of Federal agents arrest a traitor and a handful of North Korean spies. And Ellie thought he and Sarah were at the movies. Once again he wondered, what the hell had happened to his life?

"Zarnow is turning the corner," said Chuck.

"I've got him," said Billy. "Late model sedan. Two men inside. Yeah, one of them is Zarnow. Stopping in front of the Major...Out of the car...Shaking hands...The other one, Frank, going with Casey to the back of the pickup... Opening the trolley...Got the box and heading into the building...out of my sight."

Sarah said, "Marco, activate Casey's transmitter."

Suddenly they heard Casey's voice, "Ok, just through here. It's a good, big room."

The lights in the operating room came on as Zarnow flipped the switch. Frank and Casey wheeled the box in.

Chuck said, "They are in the operating room."

"Ok," said Casey. "When will your guys get here with our money?"

"I called them from the car. They're on their way. I would expect them any second now."

Suddenly everyone heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. Helicopter? Shit, the Koreans were coming by helicopter. Of course, the hospital has a helipad on the roof to treat medevaced patients. That's why the Koreans agreed to this location. Sarah said, "Leo, leave your position, come down to the fourth floor, and move to the corridor outside the operating room. The western door. Billy, come inside and get in the stairwell now."

Both men acknowledged. Chuck, said, "FAA?"

"Good idea," said Sarah. "Marco, tell the Coast Guard our guys came in by chopper from the ship. Have them get on to the FAA to track the bird's flight backwards to the ship. Once the Coast Guard has the location from the FAA have them hit that ship."

By this point, the sound of the helicopter was very loud. "Tell them it's landing on the roof right now."

Chuck looked down into the operating room. Frank was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. Zarnow and Casey were standing together tensely. Zarnow pointed to the gun looped over Casey's shoulder and said, "That isn't necessary."

"Damn, I hope you're right, Doc. I hope you're right," Casey answered honestly. "I see you have your trank gun ready."

"Yes, in case the Intersect needs a further dose for the journey ahead. Don't want to damage the merchandise." He grinned coldly.

The sound of the rotors faded. A couple of minutes later four Koreans entered the room from the stairwell along one side. Chuck gave a running commentary, "Bad guy coming in. Don't recognize him. Another one," Chuck flashed, "Ugghhhh...Name is Moon Jin-lee, Colonel in the RGB. Known for torture...there are some pretty bad pictures...He's skinny with a tan jacket. Next one," Chuck flashed again. "Jun Lee, Captain in RBG. He's got a round face and a Laker's sweatshirt. Fourth guy, I don't recognize. They are spread out along the western edge of the room. The two guys I don't recognize are carrying duffel bags. They are pretty tough looking, probably the muscle."

"Any guns?" asked Sarah.

"Not in their hands. The muscle guys have them tucked into their belts, can't tell about the other two, but nobody is waving them around. Casey isn't touching his either."

"OK, Leo when you hear the signal come join the party. Fitz and I will be doing the same. Chuck, stay where you are and keep an eye on things. Billy, maintain position and keep blocking the exit. Marco, heads up in case something goes down outside."

The men acknowledged their orders.

Skinny Moon spoke, "Show us the Intersect." He spoke accentless English.

Gesturing to the box on the trolley, Casey said, "Right here. Tranked and boxed for transport."

"Open the box," said Moon.

"One second," said Casey, holding up an index finger. "Doc, look in the duffels for our money. Don't take the duffels from them, just open them and make sure the money is there."

With almost comical eagerness, Zarnow scurried over to the bags. He opened them one at a time and ran his hands into the bundled stacks of bills. His face almost splitting with the width of his grin, he said, "We're good, Casey. We're good."

"Ok, Doc. Leave the bags there until they take delivery of the Intersect," he said with a 'stay put' hand gesture.

"Ok, Casey."

"Ok, Gentlemen. Here's the Intersect." Standing behind it, he opened the box. They all looked in and saw a recumbent man in a business suit. Oddly for a tranked person, his eyes were open and he was smiling. As they looked closer they realized that they recognized him. It was...Ronald Reagan?

At that precise moment the three M84 flashbang grenades mounted on the inside of the lid of the box detonated. No shrapnel, just a blindingly bright light and deafening bang. All hell broke loose in the operating room.

Sarah, Fitz and Leo burst through doors on either side of the room.

Frank lunged for Casey's UZI. Casey, rather than pushing Frank away, pulled him forward and headbutted him. Frank was tough and tenacious and held on to the weapon, so Casey whipped the weapon around in both of their grasps and clocked Frank on the side of the head with the collapsible buttstock. As Frank staggered back, releasing the UZI, which fell to the floor. Casey hit him three times with a quick combination of blows. Frank tried to block the punches, but was mostly unsuccessful.

Meanwhile, Leo was closest to round faced Jun. Jun reacted swiftly, though. He met Leo with a front stretch kick, a taekwondo kick where the heel goes straight up from the floor without the knee bending. Jun's heel connected with Leo in the chin and knocked him flying. He hit the ground and stayed down from the powerful blow.

The two Korean muscle guys jumped Fitz and hit him with a barrage of kicks and punches. Fitz blocked the bulk of them, but even the ones that made it through didn't seem to bother him too much. As one of them positioned himself for a roundhouse kick, Fitz kicked the duffel bag of money into his support leg, disrupting his balance. Fitz grabbed one of the men and twisted the man around to act as a shield from the blows of his partner. The partner pulled back and began to draw his gun from his waistband while the man in his grasp tried to drive his thumbs into Fitz's eyes. Fitz swept the hands aside, pushed the man backwards into his partner and pulled his trank gun with his left hand. He tranked the man in front and quickly tranked the other man as well.

Sarah had run into the room with her trank gun extended and took aim at Zarnow and Moon, but the round faced Jun, who had just knocked out Leo, leaped at her with a flying side kick. She blocked it, but it knocked her trank pistol out of her hand. He landed like a cat, spun on the ball of his foot and threw a reverse roundhouse kick at her head. She ducked and let the foot pass over her head, but, with the same movement, spun her leg low to connect with the knee of his support leg. With a shout of pain, he threw himself out of her way as she straightened to come at him again.

Fitz tried to get a shot at him, but Sarah's body was blocking the shot.

Zarnow and Moon bolted through the stairway door. Chuck yelled, "Zarnow and Moon on the move. Billy?"

"Nothing here, but I can hear them."

Chuck was looking at his phone. "Right, the tracker says they are going back up to the roof. Billy stay there and keep blocking. I'm following them," said Chuck. He didn't know why he was saying these things, or why Billy should listen to him, but it was all happening too fast for him to really think.

Sarah blocked a straight punch from Jun, grabbed his wrist, quickly spun her body so her back was to him, and, with a simple _hane goshi_ judo throw, tossed him over her hip to the ground at Fitz's feet where he was promptly tranked.

Sarah said to Fitz, "I'm going after Zarnow and Moon. Help Casey." She grabbed her trank pistol from the floor and hit the stairs, heading up.

Holstering the trank pistol, she ran up the stairs as fast as she could and quickly met up with Chuck heading the same way and holding his phone in his hand. She passed him easily, although he was climbing the stairs as fast as he could. Her Smith & Wesson was now in her hand. She had no intent to shoot anyone, her admonition to her men was still front and center in her planning. The helicopter, on the other hand, could be incapacitated.

Sarah burst through the door to the roof and saw the waiting helicopter and Zarnow running towards it. She screamed, "Freeze!" She took aim at the main rotor hub, the connector linking the main rotor mast to the rotor blades. That hub was a very complicated piece of machinery with three different, independent hinges. Eleven 9mm parabellum slugs pumped into it could ensure that this aircraft stayed on the roof for a long time to come.

Moon tackled her from the side before she could get a shot off. She rolled free, kicked him in the face with a front snap kick, and began to draw her trank pistol. Zarnow fired a moment later and her world went black.

Chuck arrived at the roof at that moment and saw as Sarah was tranked.

Below, in the operating room, Casey landed a right hook to Frank's jaw, which knocked him back. Fitz tranked him. Before Frank's body had even hit the ground, both men were on their way to the stairs. Casey yelling "Billy, move up to the operating room and secure the prisoners. Check on Leo. Fitz and I are heading to the roof."

"Roger that, Major," said Billy.

Zarnow saw Chuck and said, "Get in the helicopter."

"What?" asked Chuck.

"I said get in the helicopter. Pick up Agent Walker and put her in the helicopter. We are going for a ride. Casey may think his trick has stopped me from getting to the Intersect, but it's just a delay." He sounded pretty unhinged, thought Chuck. "Walker can give me what I want and I'll still get hands on it. DO IT," he screamed, brandishing his trank gun. "GET IN THE HELICOPTER."

Chuck said, moving forward with his hands raised, "Ok. Ok. I'll get in the helicopter. No problem. Don't shoot me. OK. I'll do it. You're Zarnow, right? The smart guy, right?"

"Yes, now stop talking and move her into the helicopter."

Chuck knelt beside Sarah and lifted her upper body off the roof.

"You have what? Two PhD's?" he asked, as he struggled to get a good grip on Sarah's limp form.

"No, three, you simpleton."

"Three PhD's and you still found time to learn how to fly a helicopter. That's awesome." Chuck's fist closed around the handle of Sarah's trank pistol in her back holster.

With a chuckle, Zarnow said, "No. I can't fly a helicopter, but my friend Moon..."

Chuck shot Moon.

Zarnow shot Chuck.

Chuck's world went black.

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A/N2: My thanks to David Carner for his advice and guidance on this chapter. If you liked it, you can thank David. If you didn't, the fault is all mine.

I've been inside the prop department at Warner Brothers and, as the agent says, it's a crazy place. It's a huge building with high shelves stacked floor to ceiling with stuff – all kinds of stuff, from furniture to kitchenware to busts of historical figures to wax manikins. If there is any rhyme or reason to how all that stuff is organized, it was not apparent to me. I expect there may be some guy/gal who's been there for thirty years and knows exactly where each piece is.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I think I need to set the record straight on something. Emily Dickinson never said, "'Ownership of Chuck' is the thing with feathers." She just didn't. So, get over it.

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Chuck shot Moon.

Zarnow shot Chuck.

Casey and Fitz made it to the roof only a moment or two later. They had heard everything. They found Zarnow kneeling near Chuck and Sarah, with Sarah's Smith & Wesson held in one hand and the barrel touching her head. Zarnow's finger was on the trigger. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Casey was reassured that a professional like Sarah Walker would never have done something stupid like adjusting the factory-set trigger pull weight on her weapon to a so-called "hair trigger" setting.

Both men came up short and looked at Zarnow. Casey said, "Gotta tell you , Doc. This is a balls out move. Didn't really think you had it in you. Gonna be tough to walk away from this one, though, regardless, but if you hurt either of them, I will kill you... dead... instantly. I will. You can count on that."

"I'm not listening to you any more, Casey. Here's what's going to happen. First, you and your friend are going to drop your weapons. All of them."

"Ok, Doc. You got it." Casey and Fritz dropped their trank guns and Fitz unholstered and dropped his Glock 17. Of course, both men had multiple other weapons concealed about their persons, but found no need to mention that to Zarnow.

"Now, you are going to have someone bring me the Intersect and then you are going to fly us out of here. And don't bother to tell me you can't fly a helicopter, because I've read your file."

"Nope, Doc. I wouldn't tell you that. Ok, Billy? You catching this?"

"Yeah, Major."

"Ok, Billy. We have a hostage situation up here. Zarnow has a gun on Walker and Carmichael. He needs us to bring him the Intersect. Ok? So, just go get him. As you get close to the roof, announce your presence. I don't want the doctor startled when he sees you both on the stairs."

"Ok, Major. I got it."

"Right, Doc. Billy's on his way. That's gonna take a while, so we're gonna have to be patient."

The men were silent for a while until Casey said, "So, where do you want me to fly us to? That ship offshore maybe? What's the name of the ship?"

"Casey, I swear if you say another word, I will kill Walker and still have this other guy as a hostage. I really don't like the sound of your voice."

Casey nodded once and stood silently. A few minutes later Casey saw the expected movement behind Zarnow as Billy came out of the elevator building, moving silently and very, very slowly. Zarnow had been so focused on the stairwell he never considered that the elevator must make it to the roof if the helipad was unloading injured people. Billy was clever and understood when Casey had warned him that Zarnow could see the stairs.

Billy stood with his trank gun aimed at the center of Zarnow's back, but did not fire. A trank dart worked quickly, but not instantaneously. There would still be enough time for Zarnow to pull a trigger even after he was tranked. Even if it did work faster, Zarnow's collapsing body could end up firing a shot by accident. They had to get the gun pointed somewhere else before Billy could pull the trigger on Zarnow.

Time passed and no one moved. The tableau frozen. Predictably, Zarnow ran out of patience first. "Where is he? Where's your man with the Intersect?"

Casey held up his hand in a placating gesture and said, "Billy. Where are you?"

Leo answered, "Major, you need a distraction up there?"

"Yeah, Billy. That's right."

"Ok, I got just the thing," said Leo.

"Great, Billy. Remember we don't want to startle Dr. Zarnow."

"Got it. Here goes."

"Billy's carrying the Intersect up the stairs. The guy didn't want to come see you. Go figure."

Zarnow's burner phone began to ring. He looked confused and looked to Casey, who said, "Well, don't look at me. I'm not calling you. Who else did you give the number to?"

Zarnow began to fumble with the phone one handed. Billy couldn't see through Zarnow to the phone and the gun, so he just watched Casey for the signal. After having difficulty handling everything in his hands, he removed the gun from Walker's head for an instant while sticking out one finger to push a button on the burner phone. Casey nodded once. Billy fired. Zarnow slumped over. Casey stepped forward to take the gun while Fitz rolled him over onto his back.

"Thanks, Billy. Good call to wait. Solid."

"Thanks, Major. Didn't want to take the chance."

"Hundred percent. Well done, Leo. How'd you get the number of his burner?"

"I found your burner on the floor. I just hit redial."

"Good thinking. How do you feel?"

"I should probably be checked for a concussion, but otherwise good. I'm searching and securing the prisoners. Who's this Intersect guy?"

"Sorry, guys. Need to know. Forget you heard it... Fitz and I'll clean up here. Billy, go down and help Leo with the prisoners."

"Right," said Billy and left the roof.

They moved to Chuck and Sarah, collapsed onto the roof in a single pile, Chuck partially atop her, a trank dart in his arm. They rolled them apart, removed the trank darts, and tossed them aside. Laying them on their backs next to each other, Fitz said, "Pretty clever how Carmichael tricked Zarnow into admitting Moon was the pilot."

"Yeah," said Casey, "but about what I've come to expect from Chuck."

"He's a good man, Major," said Fitz.

"He is. And he doesn't even know it," said Casey as he was checking them for injuries.

"Why not?" asked Fitz.

"Cause life has dealt him one crappy deal after another. Even when it looks like he somehow managed to get a decent break, some a-hole shows up and takes it away. And, as much as life beat his ass,….well, he's still a good man," said Casey.

"Sounds like you like him," said Fitz, as he went to check on Moon.

"What? Hell no. That guy is nothing but a pain in my ass. And if you ever tell him I said anything decent about him, I'll be a pain in your ass, Fitz."

"Ha. Your secret's safe, Major...Moon is ok."

Casey went to Zarnow and began to search him. "Good. Marco, pull the van up to the building. Then go for the other one and do the same."

"Will do, Major," said Marco.

"Oh, and Marco, what do you hear from the Coast Guard?"

"The FAA identified the ship the chopper left from and the Coasties have sent the cutter _Grant_ there with the intention to board her. Stay tuned."

He turned to Fitz. "Let's get Walker and Carmichael into the communications van, then stack the others in the detention van."

And so it began. Luckily, the hospital had left a number of gurneys behind. The four agents made several trips, but eventually Chuck and Sarah were laid out on the floor of the communications van and the others, all manacled (even the ones sleeping off trank darts, because, hey, you never know), were in the detention van. It took them about a half hour to get everyone where they belonged.

While Marco and Leo took the prisoners and the bags of money in, and Billy drove the pick-up back to the lot, Fitz and Casey drove the still sleeping Chuck and Sarah to Sarah's hotel, with one quick stop along the way.

Casey and Fitz had stripped them of their gear in the van, took them upstairs, and dropped them on Sarah's bed. They took off their boots but otherwise left them dressed. It was well after midnight when Casey and Fitz left them. The last thing Casey did before leaving was to open their phones and set alarms for the morning.

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Sarah didn't like alarm clocks, so she wasn't thrilled when the one on her phone went off. But then, a second later, another alarm went off. It wasn't even the same alarm noise. The cacophony of the two discordant noises was really, really annoying. Grumbling, she reached for hers on her night stand and felt Chuck's arms around her. That was good, but why was he dressed? Wait, why was she dressed? Those questions, while interesting, were secondary to the task of shutting down her phone's alarm. Once it was off, there was only the one noise.

"Chuck...Chuck...your alarm..."

"Oh," he said, mumbling and still half asleep. He reached for and turned off the alarm. The phone said 8:30 AM. "Mmmmm." It was then he noticed that they were both wearing the black fatigues from last night. "Ummm, the roof."

"Yeah, last I remember, I was in a fight with Moon."

"I was there. You got tranked from behind by Zarnow," said Chuck.

"Then what?"

"Then Zarnow flipped out and told me to load you onto the helicopter. As I went to pick you up, I got him to admit that Moon was a helicopter pilot, not him, so I shot Moon with your trank gun. Then Zarnow tranked me. I'm guessing Casey and the guys moved us here after taking care of Zarnow."

"That was nice of him," she glanced at her phone. "I have a voicemail message from him."

She touched her phone a few times and Casey's voice came out of the speaker. "Morning, you two. While you were napping, the rest of us finished up the mission. Zarnow and the North Koreans are all in the can. What to do with a bunch of North Korean spies is up to Beckman and Graham, but they'll think of something. So, rise and shine. You guys have a busy day. Larkin's funeral is at 11 AM. Then at 6 PM we all have to be at Chuck and Ellie's for dinner. Walker, I stopped on the way back to the hotel last night and bought you a bottle of Chardonnay to bring to Ellie. It's in your fridge. See you guys later."

"He got me wine? Who is this guy? He's not Casey," said Sarah.

Chuck chuckled. "I know, but If we tease him about it, we'll just discourage it."

"So, we just let it pass? Seems to be missing a perfect teasing opportunity."

"Ok," said Chuck, "Maybe just a little teasing."

He gave her a kiss and swung his legs off the bed. She said, behind him, her voice more serious, maybe even a trifle nervous, "Chuck, when we were getting ready last night. Getting ready with the team, you flashed on something. What was it?"

Even with his back to her, she sensed his sudden tension. "Oh, nothing. Just something one of the guys said."

"It was about me, wasn't it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Other than the fact that you are a terrible liar? Because after you flashed you said something stern to them, then Fitz talked to them and one went over to you to apologize. That sounds an awful lot like you were defending me," said Sarah.

There was a long pause and Chuck finally said, "Yeah. It was about you."

"What was it?" asked Sarah.

"Your reputation, mostly."

"Killer," said Sarah.

"Assassin," said Chuck.

"But that wasn't specific. That wasn't the specific thing you flashed on, was it?"

"No, it wasn't _. Maison Gauche_ ," he said.

Oh, God, she thought. He knows. Beyond reputational gossip, he really knows now. He knows what she did...what she is. For sure. This is it. This is the beginning of the end. It's inconceivable that a good, gentle man like Chuck ...well, that he would be with someone who could do those things. That realization upset her much more than she would ever have imagined. Soon she would be alone again. No Chuck. Alone.

In a small voice, not really wanting to know the answer, she asked, "Is that the first time you flashed on me?"

"No, it's not. The day you left for DC. Last week. I flashed on a ring you were wearing and I saw a video clip of you fighting off and killing three men." Sarah knew the ring and promised herself that it was going in the trash immediately,

"And you didn't say anything about it? You didn't tell me."

So, he knew of a kill-count of eight. Damn, what if he ever found out that that was only a small slice of what she had done? Those eight that he knew about, she could justify those with a self-defense explanation, but not all of them. Some of them had been executions.

"Sarah," his voice was soft, "I know you don't like to talk about your past. And maybe I understand a little better why you don't. But the truth is I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say..."

She thought, just say you don't want to see me anymore. Just break it off. I don't want this dragged out. Just do it.

"...I didn't understand it. I still don't really. I knew we'd talk about it eventually and I hadn't gotten my thoughts in order to do so. I'm stumbling a bit here...I didn't expect to have this conversation so soon...I have feelings, but it's hard to put them in words or even a coherent train of thought...While you were away, I read a book..."

"A book?" despite herself, she wanted to laugh. That was such a Chuck thing to do.

"...yeah. It was written by a US Army Ranger, a Lt. Colonel who was a psychology professor at West Point. It was helpful to me in understanding what … well, how your past experiences...your past actions...affected...and continue to affect you."

Yes, she thought, I'm a killer. That's how they affected me.

"And I feel so proud of you..."

Wait..what? What did he just say?

"Sarah, you carry a heavy burden...when you told me you had baggage I never imagined just what that meant. But now that I have a tiny inkling, I understand a little...the people in Paris must have been particularly hard for you..."

The book had explained that the psychological impact on the killer increased as the physical distance to the victim decreased. Sitting next to someone at dinner and killing them. Wow, he thought.

"I know there's no way I can truly help you carry this burden, but, if you let me, I'd like to try." The book had called it the "burden of guilt," but he deliberately avoided that phrase. He didn't want to imply that she should feel guilty.

What? What? How?...HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?, her mind screamed. She looked up at him and his eyes showed compassion, warmth, and understanding.

"You aren't...upset?" she asked.

"Of course, I'm upset. Not by what you did, but by what you have chosen to endure on all of our behalves. And all alone, too. Sarah, the country is engaged in two wars at the same time right now. Soldiers are returning every day who have killed men in combat. Every day. A small number of them develop PTSD, most of them don't. But every one of them, like you, lives with their actions for the rest of their lives. And they do it to keep me safe ...to keep Ellie and Devon and Morgan safe. You are just like them, having accepted a burden so that the rest of us don't ever have to. That's why I'm proud..."

He was trying really, really hard not to allow any semblance of pity to enter the discussion, although the truth was, he felt very sorry for her. He knew just how insulted she would be by that.

She thought, this just wasn't possible. Nobody was this good, this compassionate, this understanding. But here he was in front of her. He knew a bit of her past and still ...still wanted to be with her. She was so surprised she almost didn't comprehend it.

"...but there's a difference. A soldier has a team around him, his brothers in arms, to help and support him. You don't seem to have that. I mean, I don't know what you spies do to process these things...with each other. I don't know if part of your training includes dealing with the aftermath of what you have gone through. But I'm sure talking can help though. I had tons of talk therapy when my folks left Ellie and me and I know talking helps. Anyway, I know you don't like to share stuff about your past and that's cool, but if you ever do want to talk about things, I'd be honored to listen."

She did the only thing that she could think of, the only thing in her mind. She wrapped her arms around him, buried her head in his shoulder and said, "Thank you, Chuck."

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A/N2: The book Chuck read while Sarah was away was On Killing by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, as Chuck says, an Army Ranger and professor of psychology at West Point (now retired). I read it a few years ago. It is an excellent book that explains why Chuck won't pull the trigger, why Sarah and Casey will, and the long-term effects on both of the latter of having done so (at least, if these characters were real people). Col. Grossman now travels the United States lecturing to military and law enforcement personnel. I heard him interviewed last year and he is a fascinating and compelling speaker.

Many of the fan fiction stories here emphasize how upset Sarah is about her past actions and her fear of Chuck discovering them. I didn't catch that from the show, though, at least not to the extent reflected here. My Sarah, unlike some of the others I've read, doesn't go in for the whole self-abnegation thing and is much more phlegmatic about her past. It kind of reflects my view that this Sarah is maybe a little more mature than her canon counterpart. She still doesn't want to talk about it, but that's not at all unusual for combat veterans, and that's pretty much what she is.

One more short chapter left telling the story of Team Bartowski's meeting with the good doctor Zarnow.

Does anyone know how to say "the city" in Spanish? Asking for a friend.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This is the final entry in the Zarnow saga. Thanks to all of you who have made it this far. And thanks for the reviews and PM's and general good wishes. It's what makes this fun.

Hey, Mr. Warner, you own Chuck. Have your people call my people. We've got to talk movie. (Oh, and thanks for lending our heroes Ronald Reagan for the confrontation with the North Koreans.)

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Casey gazed at the placid green hills. It was a warm, sunny southern California day, with only a light breeze blowing, and the green of the neatly trimmed grass was vibrant and lovely. It was a comforting vista, but he felt uncomfortable nevertheless. He had never before attended the funeral of a man he'd killed.

It was a graveside service with a dozen or so mourners seated on folding chairs and listening to the minister recite words of comfort. He wondered who they were and concluded they were probably CIA agents sent as placeholders to maintain Larkin's cover, even in death. Larkin's parents were seated front and center, looking distraught. They might have been the only real mourners there. Well, except for Walker and Bartowski. I suppose they were real mourners, thought Casey, although they each had reasons to hate the deceased. Were they here out of a sense of duty? Obligation? Maybe it was just good manners.

They were standing together closer to the front, but a bit off to one side. Walker was wearing a simple sleeveless black dress. Bartowski was in a dark suit and tie. They stood holding hands. He thought Walker might have been crying, but he couldn't tell from where he was standing. A handsome couple, he thought idly, although Bartowski could use a haircut. He wondered what he would look like in a regulation Marine Corps high and tight. Then he pictured Walker's reaction to that makeover and smiled. Remembering he was at a funeral, he quickly wiped the smile away.

His phone buzzed. General Beckman. "Afternoon, General."

"Morning, Casey. Zarnow is dead."

"How?" asked Casey, stunned.

"They want us to think it was suicide. Concealed poison pill."

"No. No, that's not right, General. He was searched. I searched him myself. He did not have a pill, concealed or otherwise. And anyway, no way he killed himself. He was no loyal-unto-death true believer. He was a mercenary. Only in it for the payday. No payday if you're dead. Not for him."

"Graham and I agree with you. So, he was killed to cover the tracks of whoever was helping him. Someone on the inside. Tell your team."

"I will, but not until later tonight. We are going to a dinner party hosted by Bartowski's sister, Ellie. I'll let them enjoy it."

"Your call, Major. How is the team? Your results speak for themselves, but your view?"

"It's a good, strong team, Ma'am. Don't know that I've ever seen one with more potential."

"Bartowski?"

"He's an untrained civilian, but of enormous value, even when he's not flashing. He's smart as hell, brave as hell, and has a great attitude. I'm proud of him. When he flashes, that gives us even more of an edge."

"Well, don't get too comfortable, Casey. The new Intersect will be up and running in six months."

"And what happens to Bartowski when this is done?"

"Honestly...I don't know. But what I do know is that if he's one in a hundred Intersects...one in a thousand...he's safer than if he's the only one. And safer is a good thing."

"Walker will be happy about that."

"The relationship with Agent Walker? What do you think?"

"I've never known them without it, so it's tough to say. At a guess, I'd say two plus two equals five. They seem to complement each other. It is certainly not an impediment or a distraction. They are totally professional when they need to be. I mean, other than deliberately flirting with each other just to get on my nerves."

She chuckled, "Does it work?"

"Hell, yeah, it works. I hate seeing all those lady feelings on display," he growled.

"Well, deal with it, Casey. It's worth it to get the North Koreans and bastards like Andric."

"Roger that. Will the North Koreans hit the press or are you keeping it quiet?"

"Quiet. POTUS is giving them to South Korea. The Coast Guard picked up four more on the offshore ship. They will all be traded for a bunch of South Korean spies held in the North. So, some South Koreans spies will soon be home with their families thanks to Team Bartowski. You should be proud."

"I'll tell my guys shortly."

"Shortly? Where are you?" she asked.

"Larkin's funeral."

"In Los Angeles? Why? He's from Connecticut. His only connection to California is four years at Stanford and that's hundreds of miles from you. Even his cover was in DC. Why is he being buried in LA?"

"Not too sure. Grandparents, I think. Family plot. Something like that."

"Oh. OK. Well, yes, tell Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski they should be proud."

"Yes, Ma'am. I will. Have a good one."

"You too, Casey...Oh, I almost forgot. Graham and I finished that paperwork you and Agent Walker wanted. I'll email it to you. Just print it out and get it signed."

"Great. Thank you. I'll do that. Talk soon." Beckman hung up without saying good-bye.

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Sarah wore jeans and a blue top, but Chuck still wore his only suit. He opened the door to his apartment and said, "Anybody home?"

Ellie scurried over from the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on a dish towel. She saw Sarah and almost bounced from excitement. "You must be Sarah, the girl who stole my little brother." She was grinning from ear to ear.

Sarah handed her the bottle of cold Chardonnay and said, "Hi, Ellie, Actually, I'm just borrowing him from you. And thanks so much for sharing." Sarah was smiling happily, a wide toothy grin.

"Thank you for this," she said as she took the wine. "And as to my brother, he's the best," said Ellie, smiling at Chuck with love. "I'm delighted to share."

Devon joined them at the door, took one look at Sarah and exclaimed, "Whoa. Way to go, Chuckster." Giving him a huge high five, he continued, "Knew you had it in you, you old dog." He reached for Sarah's hand and said, "Hi, I'm Devon."

"Pleased to meet you, Devon. I've heard so much about you from Chuck. So much about you both. Thank you for the invite."

Morgan came over from the couch and said, "Pot roast. My favorite."

There was a knock at the door and there was Casey holding a cake. "Hi, Ellie. Thought I'd bring a dessert."

"Hi, John, that's so sweet of you. What is it?"

"Salted vanilla layer cake. I made it this afternoon," answered Casey.

"Wow. That sounds great. Home run for us that you moved in next door," said Devon.

"Well, you can thank Chuck for that. He was the one who told me about the empty apartment."

"He did us all a service. You are very welcome. Come on in," said Ellie, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Morgan said, with a frown, "Did you really bake it yourself?" He sounded skeptical. "It looks store-bought."

Casey growled at him, "I don't joke about salted vanilla, numbnuts."

"Excuse me, guys. I want to get out of this suit," said Chuck. He walked back to his room.

"Let me go with you. Want to ask you a question about work," said Casey.

"Work? I can be helpful," said Morgan.

"Not your business, Moron," said Casey.

In his room, as Chuck shrugged off his jacket and began to loosen his tie, he said to Casey, "Thanks for the wine for Sarah to bring. That was a very nice touch."

"No worries, Bartowski. And don't ever say I did something nice. Listen, there're some papers for you to sign." He took a folded set of papers out of his back pocket.

"Another non-disclosure?"

"No, an employment contract. If you're gonna be an analyst on the team, you're gonna get paid. Here it is," he said, putting the papers down on the desk. "Read it and sign it where it's marked. No way to negotiate it, but you might want to know what it says."

"I...I never asked for money," Chuck said, clearly surprised.

"Of course not. You didn't even think of it. Because you're good...and you want to help...and you're stupid." Chuck laughed. "Look, it's the government for God's sake. The whole thing runs on paperwork. If you were an asset, it would be one thing, but when you insisted on being an analyst you fell into a different category. A category that needed paperwork. And there's no slot there for an unpaid volunteer. So," he gestured at the papers on the table. "Pay and paperwork."

Chuck put his shirt in a laundry bag, and picked up the papers. Looking over his shoulder, Casey pointed to a letter/number combination and said, "That's your government service level. You skipped a few entry level ranks and are coming in at a mid-level. It's less than Walker and much less than me, because we've been working for Uncle Same for years. Here's the salary and here's the additional stipend for living in Los Angeles."

"The what?"

"Government salaries are indexed to the area where you live. LA is expensive, so they pay you more. Here's a clothing stipend Walker and I negotiated for you. Figured you'd have to go into the field with us sometimes in case you..."

"Wait a second, you and Sarah negotiated this...for me?"

"Of course, we did. We negotiated with the NSA and the CIA both. You weren't going to do it yourself. If Beckman or Graham make any pissy comments on the next conference calls, you'll know why." Chuck gave a tiny snort. "Couldn't get you a housing allowance, though."

"What's that?"

"If you have temporary duty somewhere, you get a housing allowance. Both Sarah and I are based in DC, so get a housing allowance to live in LA, but according to the government, this is your permanent station, so no allowance."

'Casey," said Chuck looking at the numbers on the contract, "with this money, I can get a place of my own. I don't have to live with my sister and her boyfriend anymore. Thank you. Thank you very much."

"I guess, but do me a favor and don't move too soon. I just got the courtyard wired up with a ton of surveillance. A mosquito can't fart out there without us knowing about it. Be a pain in my ass to have to do it all over again."

"Wait," said Chuck, pulling on a pair of jeans. "Why all the surveillance?"

"Protection, Moron."

"You need surveillance cameras to protect me, the Intersect. Of course. That makes sense."

"To protect us both. I live here too, remember."

"Did you put any bugs here? In my apartment?"

"Did you put any bugs in _my_ apartment?" asked Casey.

"What? Of course, not," said Chuck.

"Well, then why would I put bugs in _your_ apartment? If you were an asset it would be an entirely different protocol. But as an analyst, nope."

"Makes me happy I made that call early on," said Chuck, chuckling.

"You and me both. The last thing I need is to listen to you and Walker mixing your chocolate and peanut butter. Ugghhh." Chuck laughed.

"Thank you, Casey. You're looking out for me. You and Sarah both. I really appreciate it."

"Don't..."

Ellie opened the door and said, "Don't want to interrupt the big Buy More meeting, but …"

"No, no," said Casey. "I was just leaving." He was happy to leave the room before Bartowski started saying, 'I love ya, man.' He headed back out to the others.

Ellie turned to Chuck and said, "Wow.. Just wow...I mean, I knew you had it in you...but she's, wow, she's really great."

"I know, Ellie. I kind of can't believe it myself."

"No, Chuck. You have no reason to be nervous. You have a great girl out there. And she is lucky to have you, too." Ellie squealed, and said, "This is awesome."

"Isn't that Devon's line?" said Chuck as they were leaving his room.

Ellie went to the kitchen to finish up making dinner and Chuck joined a conversation between Casey and Devon. Devon said, "Yeah, John. Probably three mornings a week, depending on my hospital schedule."

"Distance?"

"Five or six miles. Depending on how I feel."

"That sounds about right. Want company sometime?," said Casey.

"Love it," said Devon.

"Guys, I've decided to get in shape. Can I get some advice? I figure I'd ask you both, rather than Morgan," asked Chuck with a chuckle.

"Awesome," boomed the Captain. "This is gonna be awesome, Bro." He had a huge happy smile.

"What brought this on?" asked Casey.

"Because I raced Sarah up some stairs yesterday and she beat my socks off. I don't mind losing to her. She's in kick ass shape. But I'd just as soon not be humiliated. And anyway, if I'm going to be Sarah Walker's boyfriend, I guess I should look the part."

Devon nodded with wise understanding, "A woman can always get a man to change his lifestyle. World's oldest story."

"Sure, Chuck. We can work on that," said Casey.

"Devon," called Ellie from the kitchen. "I need you to lift the pot roast."

"Coming," said Devon, as he headed over.

"Question for you, Bartowski. Last night, in the middle of the fighting with the North Koreans, when Zarnow and Moon broke for the helicopter on the roof..."

"Yeah?" asked Chuck.

"You said the tracker showed them moving up, moving up towards the roof. How? Those trackers are two dimensional only. They don't show altitude. How did you know?"

"I re-wrote the software on the app."

"You what?"

"The app that goes on the phone. To work with the trackers. I re-wrote it yesterday morning to show elevation. I put the new app on my phone to test it and it worked. I'll show you later and install it for you and Sarah. It only works if there are enough transceivers around, though. I made it triangulate. Sort of like what a GPS does with the satellites. You see..."

Ellie called, "Dinner."

Everyone sat down to dinner and began to eat. After much good food, several bottles of wine and more laughs than could be counted, they were ready for Casey's cake for dessert. Chuck and Sarah got up to get the cake and the cake plates while Morgan and Devon cleared the table. Once in the kitchen, Sarah put her arm around his waist, and snuggled into his side. Chuck said, "Thanks for the contract stuff...for looking out for me."

"Shhhh," she said. Morgan passed. She continued, "You're welcome...always...Casey told me how you re-wrote the app on the phones to show elevation. I'm really impressed with my new boyfriend, just so you know. That's pretty smart work for a guy making $11 an hour at a Buy More."

"Thanks. Glad I did it. Got me to the roof in time to stop Zarnow...You know, I'm really glad I didn't get on the helicopter. Can you imagine? Me in that helicopter? That might have been a real problem."

"Oh, yeah," said Sarah, laughing. "That scenario has disaster written all over it." Chuck joined in her laughter. "Give me a kiss," she said. And he did.

He was enjoying the kiss, and the feeling of her body pressed to his, until they heard Ellie squeal in delight and Devon bellow, "Way to go, you two."

Breaking the kiss, Chuck blushed and said, "Not huge fan of PDA, as a general rule."

With wicked humor sparkling in her blue eyes and a small smile on her lips, she said, "Well, you're going to have to get a little used to it, Buster." She was glad she'd thrown a small overnight bag into the back of her car with a change of clothes for tomorrow (and that stupid Wienerlicous outfit), because she had no intention of letting him sleep alone.

"Ok. If I must."

Casey's cake was a huge hit. After everyone had second helpings, people left the table to move to the living room. Morgan broke out a game of Trivial Pursuit and people began to choose up teams.

Sarah saw Casey make his way into the kitchen area to grab a beer from the ice chest. A question had been nagging at her for a couple of days and she wanted to ask him. When he saw her following, he wordlessly opened a beer and offered it to her. She took the beer and put her empty bottle in the sink next to some others.

"Casey," she said, "Can I ask you something?" He made an affirmative noise, and she continued, "Zarnow's destroyed car...it had some hallmarks of a CIA hit."

"Yup," he said.

"And Larkin was my partner before he went rogue."

"Yup."

"Why didn't you suspect me? Why didn't you think I had killed Zarnow? Gone rogue myself? I thought you had killed him when I found the Incinerator, but you had enough evidence to at least suspect me and you didn't. Why not?"

They were both leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter, looking across the kitchen.

"It would have been a betrayal," said Casey after a long pause.

"So? I'm CIA. I betray three people before breakfast most days."

"No," he said, "it would have been a betrayal of Chuck." With his beer bottle he gestured at Chuck across the room.

Something inside her lurched at the thought, but she ignored it. She said, "So?"

"I knew you wouldn't betray him...no way...not an option."

She paused for what seemed to her to be a long time and finally said, her voice a little smaller than moments ago, "Why do you say that?"

It was his turn to pause. He stood looking away from her and sipping his beer, his face unreadable in profile. Eventually he said, "Because you're head-over-heels in love with him."

"What? No, I'm not. Look, I like him, for sure. He's a great guy. But love? No way. Spies don't fall in love, you know that. I mean it's only been a couple of weeks we're dating. And I was gone for one of them. I mean, maybe one day. But, no. No, I'm not."

Still not looking at her he said, "Oh. Ok. My mistake. Never mind." He pushed off the counter and left the kitchen to begin a conversation with Devon about pyramid sets.

She stood in the kitchen thinking about what Casey had said and looking at Chuck across the room. He was talking with Morgan and had a goofy expression on his face. His nose was crinkling with his laughter and his brown eyes danced with mirth. It was absurd. Crazy. In love? Her? Sarah Walker, in love? No way. I am not in love. I am not. I. Am. Not?

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A/N2: One of the world's most elusive arms dealers comes to Los Angeles to obtain a vial of stolen plutonium hidden in the frame of a painting with Britain's MI-6 hot on his heels. Anybody think that Team Bartowski can avoid the fun? Stay tuned.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Welcome to the beginning of the third arc of New Day. If you made it this far, thanks so much for coming along on this trip with me. If you didn't make it this far, well, I'm not sure how you are reading this.

Gossip on the street is that someone here owns Chuck and is just being modest by not admitting it. So, keep your eyes open, folks.

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Nick Renny stared out of the open window from the second floor of the Miller Art Gallery in downtown Los Angeles and waited. His boss, Andrew Harris, was below on the loading dock, just visible from the window and waiting for the delivery. Renny was on overwatch above. He cradled a silenced Colt 9mm SMG, a smaller version of Colt's ubiquitous assault rifle, but chambered for the common pistol round.

Renny was in a sour mood. Given his size, skill set and relative lack of seniority on the team, he was relegated to the role of muscle. It was not an unusual situation in MI-6 and he didn't mind it usually, but in this case it was irksome. Harris had no interest in his opinion of the operation and had told him bluntly, on more than one occasion to belt up and obey orders. To be fair, this portion of the operation looked like it might be a success, but they were only halfway done overall.

A dark SUV pulled up to the dock and parked. Renny saw the driver greet Harris with a nod, move around to the rear of the vehicle and open the back gate. He removed a bulky object covered by a light tarp. As Harris and the driver moved off the dock and into the building, Renny moved as well to an open mezzanine overlooking the main gallery space. He took care to move silently and very slowly – knowing that the eye can be drawn to movement.

A display easel had already been set up in the center of the floorspace. The object, a covered framed painting, was placed on it by the driver and the tarp removed. It was called Water Lilies at Dusk and was painted by Adolpho Bernini, an uninspired Italian journeyman artist from the last century. It depicted exactly what its title indicated, with washed out blues and greens. It was not a painting anyone would glance at a second time. The frame was a large smooth wooden piece with a small brass plaque along the bottom edge displaying the title and artist.

Harris confirmed that it was, in fact the painting he was buying, then directed the driver to the attache case with the money. Once the man opened the lid to confirm its contents, he began to reach for a pistol tucked into his belt. As he did so, Harris took out a silenced Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol and shot him in the back of his head. The body collapsed to the floor. Harris turned to look at the painting and said, "What a piece of crap," with obvious disdain.

Renny came down the stairs and said, "Is it there?"

"Bloody well better be," said Harris, moving the painting to the table as Renny took the case of money off it. With a small screwdriver, he removed the brass plaque and looked underneath. "Cheers, Renny."

"Brilliant," said Renny. While Harris removed the small vial from the hidden recess under the plaque, Renny began to empty the dead man's pockets and drop the contents on the table. "Did you have to kill him, Harris?"

"Why not? He knew we had the painting. He was a liability. Don't go soft on me, Renny. There's too much at stake."

"I know what's at stake. I'm not going soft, Harris, but we are in America right now. This isn't some lawless place like the Burmese jungle. We have allies here. People who will help us. They want him as much as anybody. They could have taken and held this bloke. Now we just have a body to get rid of in downtown Los Angeles."

"Allies? The Americans can bugger off, for all I care. This is our hunt and we will bring it to a conclusion ourselves. They will just get in the way. Damn arrogant arseholes as far as I'm concerned. Think they invented counter-terrorism. I was infiltrating the IRA while these blokes were arming Bin Laden."

"Harris, you know as well as I do that we have protocols and requirements to check in with the CIA and NSA in order to operate here. There are rules in place for a reason. 'Blue on blue,' as the Americans say, to be avoided. Can't have that."

"And have those Yanks muddle up our whole operation? We've chased La Ciudad across three continents...five countries...we'll get the son of a bitch and I won't let any Americans get in my way." Harris was almost spitting with vehemence by the time he was done.

Renny nodded, but couldn't shake the thought of Captain Ahab destroying his ship to hunt the object of his obsession. To hell with it, thought Renny, even if Harris wouldn't, he would make sure the Americans were on board with this operation. If Harris got miffed and decided he never wanted to work with him again, that would be a blessing.

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Several weeks later, Chuck took the list of names Sarah handed him and spent a few moments studying it while Sarah waited patiently. "Nope. Nothing," he said.

"How about this one?" asked Sarah, handing him a different piece of paper with a different list.

"Oh, yeah. This one," he pointed at a name, "is in the hawala network. He is funding the Warriors of Allah terrorist group in Tunisia."

"Ok," said Sarah, typing on her computer. "Any others?"

"Well, this guy sounds like a character from Star Wars."

"Focus, Moron. We have work to do," said Casey from the kitchen area. Chuck and Sarah sat at Casey's dining room table waiting for Casey to serve them pancakes.

"Ignore him. He's just grumpy cause it's his turn to make breakfast," said Sarah. Chuck and Casey wore their respective Buy More uniforms and Sarah was in her vaguely ridiculous Wienerlicious outfit, her hair in pig tails.

"OK, only a few more," said Sarah. She showed him pictures on her laptop of a few buildings, a couple of ships and three or four people. He flashed on one of the ships as transporting banned electronics to China and one of the men as involved in human trafficking. Sarah typed the report of his flashes.

Casey put plates of pancakes in front of each of them. "Thanks, Casey," they each said.

"You done, Walker?"

"Yeah, that's all I have."

"OK, I have some from Beckman." He pushed a button on his computer and twisted the screen around so Chuck could see it. It started a slide show of pictures of bloody, murdered bodies.

"Ugghhh. Creepy. Casey, you did that deliberately. You waited until I had food in front of me to show those." he looked away.

Barely hiding a smile at his own little joke, and chewing on a mouthful of pancake, Casey said, "Oh, man up. We have work to do. Look at them. Any flashes?" With palpable distaste, Chuck looked at each of the dead bodies and shook his head, no flashes. "Ok," said Casey, closing the computer "Want some syrup for your pancakes? Maybe, some blood red strawberries?"

"You are a sadist," said Chuck with a groan. "I hope you are proud of yourself." Casey laughed. Even Sarah laughed a little. The work portion of the morning meeting over, Casey opened and distributed the morning paper. As usual, he gave Sarah the news section and took the sports himself. Chuck choose the comics.

Over the few weeks since they'd captured Zarnow, this had developed into their morning routine. They would meet for breakfast and show Chuck information that Graham or Beckman or both wanted run past the Intersect to see if any flashes occurred. As Sarah didn't have a kitchen, when it was her turn they sat in the back room of a quiet diner near the Buy More. Sarah and Chuck were sleeping together pretty much every night, either at her hotel or in Chuck's apartment, so if Ellie and Devon were out they could use Chuck's place and either Sarah or Chuck would cook. It was generally agreed that Sarah was the best cook of the three, but Chuck's skills were improving quickly and Casey did, in fact, make excellent pancakes.

"Can't believe the Dodgers choked again," Said Casey.

"I know," said Chuck, "You'd think they had Little League kids pitching," said Chuck.

"Be an improvement," growled Casey.

"How can you guys get upset about baseball when the rest of the news is so horrible? Look," Sarah gestured with the paper, "bombing in Baghdad, another sex scandal in DC (this one involving an underage monkey), a school shooting in Miami, a robbery at a National Guard armory in Salt Lake, a family killed in a house fire in Encino. I think Chuck is right and we should just read the comics and be done with it all."

"Could you say that again, please?" asked Chuck.

"We should just read the comics and be done with it?"

"No, the part about me being right." said Chuck with a smile.

"Wait," said Casey, holding up a hand. "The monkey was underage?"

Sarah turned the page of the paper and Chuck flashed. Casey noticed and nudged Sarah. When Chuck stopped flashing they looked at him expectantly.

He pointed to the article in the paper illustrated with a picture of Water Lilies at Dusk and said, "Water lily painting...weapons...art auction. Does the name La Ciudad mean anything to you?"

"Why?" asked Casey.

"Because I think he's going to be at this art auction on Thursday," said Chuck.

Casey and Sarah looked at each other with stunned expressions and pushed aside their breakfast plates. Chuck, seeing their stupefied reactions, collected the empty plates and brought them to the kitchen sink.

"Holy shit," said Casey.

"Yeah," said Sarah.

"Guys?" asked Chuck.

"He's one of the most wanted arms dealers in the world. Incredibly dangerous," said Casey.

"And a ghost," said Sarah. "You didn't flash on a picture of him, I'll bet. Nobody knows what he looks like. None of the intelligence agencies. If anyone sees his face, he kills them."

"I agree with Casey. Holy shit," said Chuck, washing the dishes.

"Beckman and Graham," said Casey

"Yup," said Sarah. After a couple of emails, the video conference was set up and Graham and Beckman were on Casey's large TV monitor on a split screen.

"Good morning, Team Bartowski," said Graham. "Did Chuck flash on something urgent?"

"I did, Director," said Chuck. "It seems La Ciudad may be attending an art auction here in Los Angeles on Thursday night."

Beckman looked pleased and was clearly not surprised. "Well, Graham, it worked."

"They'll be pretty pleased with themselves, won't they?" he said.

"Deservedly so," said Beckman. Turning to Team Bartowski, she continued, "Let me explain. MI-6 is using a stolen vial of plutonium as bait to draw out La Ciudad. After months of pursuit, two of their agents intercepted the plutonium and replaced it with an inert duplicate. They believe that La Ciudad is unaware of the switch and will attempt to buy the plutonium...to buy the painting, at the auction. It was hidden in the frame of the water lily painting. Your flash is the first indication we have that La Ciudad may be taking the bait. They will be more than pleased with this information."

Graham picked up, "But under no circumstances can we tell them that this information came from the Intersect. We are not yet prepared to share that technology...hell, even the concept, with any other government or agency. We will create a plausible explanation for this development."

"Agreed," said Beckman.

Graham said, "We are going to assign you to attend the auction on Thursday. Act as liaison with the MI-6 agents. It's our country, so they don't get carte blanche, but it's been their show thus far and, frankly, they did a damn good job. If La Ciudad shows up, they deserve the credit. You will not be taking orders from them, but I would say they are entitled to a certain deference. Understood?"

"Certainly," said Sarah.

"Yup," said Chuck.

"Yeah, I can play nice with the Limeys," said Casey. Sarah and Chuck looked at him. "What?" he growled. "It was a joke."

"Side splitting, Casey." She did not appear to be actually amused. "Alright, Team, we leave it in your discretion. We'll send you the contact information for the MI-6 agents. Coordinate with them for coverage of the auction. We don't have to tell you how important this is. Western intelligence has been after La Ciudad for years. Good luck," said Beckman. The screen went dark.

"This is going to be incredibly dangerous. La Cuidad is like a crazy pyscho killer. Killing everyone who's seen his face is really nuts. I don't want Chuck anywhere near him," said Sarah.

"Well," said Casey, "we'll have to bring him to the auction. We have no idea what to look for. A flash might be the key to finding the sonofabitch."

"Uh, guys, I'm right here. It's annoying when you talk about me like I'm not here. I'm not four."

"Sorry, Chuck. I just worry about you running into La Ciudad."

"I know, but think about what happened with Andric...I mean before the whole bomb almost blowing up Union Station thing... I walked around with you, ID'ed the bad guys, and was done. If not for the bomb, I could have gone home and played video games for the rest of the day. Why would this one be any different?"

"He's right," said Casey. "He'll have you next to him and me behind the bar or waiting tables or something. We can protect him if there's a problem. If the Intersect is going to be useful, Walker, we have to have it in a place where he can see things. And it's an art auction, for God's sake."

"Chuck, promise me you won't freestyle on this one. With Zarnow you ran up to the roof without a plan or a gun or anything."

"And he stopped Zarnow and Moon from taking off in the helicopter..."

"You're not helping, Casey," said Sarah with exasperation.

"Fine, Sarah. I promise I won't run off like I did with Zarnow," said Chuck.

"Ok. We take him to the auction, but the MI-6 guys can't know he's there," said Sarah.

"I agree," said Casey. "We let them think you and I are alone."

Sarah got a little smile on her face and said to Chuck, "We have an errand after work this afternoon, so don't make any plans."

"Where are we going?" Chuck asked.

"The Armani store in Beverly Hills. We're buying you a tux," she looked like she was really going to enjoy this particular errand.

Casey grinned, "You're in for it now, Moron. Glad we got you a clothing allowance."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Come on. Come clean. We know you own Chuck. Speak up. Don't be shy. We don't judge.

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Sarah checked to make sure she had her weapon, her knives and all three deadly back-up items secreted about her person. She was just putting the finishing touches on her make-up when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Chuck standing there with a boquet of gardenias in his hand.

He had a happy smile and looked spectacular in his new tuxedo. The sight of him caused a warmth in places that weren't supposed to get warm before missions. She had been with him when he tried on the tux and bought it, but this was the first time she saw him in it with the full regalia. She thought he looked good enough to eat. But, as good as he looked, what made her breath catch in her throat and the blood rise to her face was the expression that grew on his face when he saw her. He was absolutely awestruck, his jaw slack and with wonder and his eyes glimmering with adoration. Almost in a whisper, he said, "Every time I look at you, I think you cannot possibly look more beautiful than you look at that moment and then you do something like this and look more beautiful than ….than is even conceivable. Oh, my God, Sarah," he smiled almost timidly. "I am the luckiest guy on planet Earth."

She smiled with joy and her heart warmed. She wore a sleeveless red dress with a long slit up one side and a flowing red sash over one shoulder. She had picked her dress specially to please him and was thrilled that it did. "Thank you, Chuck. You look pretty special yourself." She gave him a kiss that curled his toes and said with a little smirk, "I look forward to taking that tux off you later, one piece at a time." Taking the flowers, she continued, "And you know, you are the first boyfriend I've ever had who took the time to notice that gardenias are my favorite. Thank you." She went to put them in water.

"All your prior boyfriends were idiots."

"Yup. I know that now, but where were you then?"

"Pining away for you at the Nerd Herd desk. Not even knowing what I was missing."

"Jeff and Lester not an adequate substitute?"

"Urgghh. You went there. Ugly idea."

They laughed as they made their way down the hall and to the elevator, arm in arm.

Once in Casey's beloved Crown Vic (which he had arranged to have shipped from DC a week or so ago), Sarah said, "Did you remember to empty your pockets of ID? Anything that could identify you?"

"Yes," said Chuck. "And I brushed my teeth before bed too."

"Don't get snide, young man. It's your first time in the field. I'd hate for you to drop your Buy More ID when you are telling people you're Charles Carmichael. That's exactly how covers get blown."

"So, are you telling me that all those TV shows where the CIA agent, or an NSA agent I guess, whips out his wallet and shows a badge to the investigating police officer are bullshit?"

"Totally, Moron," said Casey. "We don't need no stinking badges," he continued in a bad Mexican accent.

"A movie reference... I'm rubbing off on you Casey," said Chuck

"It was Bogey. That doesn't count," growled Casey.

"Actually, it was a guy speaking to Bogey, but I get your drift."

"Ok, so to go over the plan, boys," said Sarah. "Casey, you take the bar. Chuck and I will mingle, but separately, so Harris and Renny don't know we are together."

"Harris is an asshole," said Casey.

"I agree," said Sarah, "but Renny's ok."

"Yeah, but Harris is the boss. Renny will take his orders."

The meeting among Harris, Renny, Sarah and Casey had not gone well. It didn't take long for Sarah and Casey to realize that Renny had gotten their agencies involved against Harris' wishes and was suffering for that decision. Harris did his best to talk them out of attending the auction. When that failed, he tried to convince them that they were under his command. Only when that failed did he reluctantly acquiesce to include them on his and Renny's communications net so that the four of them could monitor the room looking for any sign that one of the attendees was, in fact, La Ciudad. Presumably, they could wait for the high bid for the painting and apprehend the bidder on the assumption that it was La Ciudad trying to buy the plutonium, but, given all that could go wrong, the sooner that they could make a positive identification the better.

They arrived at the auction at the Wiltshire Strand Hotel, a high end hotel with an old fashioned decor and an expensive reputation. The art auction itself was a swanky affair with passed hors d'oeuvres, champagne, an open bar, and live music. It was black tie and, although the women were very attractive and wore lovely gowns, Chuck thought Sarah was the most beautiful woman there by a long shot, which, he figured, said a great deal – this being LA, and all. Chuck and Sarah entered a few minutes apart and began to move about the room. Casey took up station at the bar.

Accepting a glass of champagne to more easily blend in, Chuck made a show of looking at the art, but he was really looking at the fellow auction attendees. Casey and Sarah also spent their time observing the guests, but also checking on Chuck to see if he flashed. When they saw him flash, they looked at him expectantly, but he only shook his head and shrugged, gesturing to the Water Lilies painting. He had flashed on that, which wasn't news.

Casey and Sarah were in touch with Harris and Renny, who were covering other rooms of the auction. They had only been there twenty minutes or so when Harris said, over their earwigs, "Got him. Walker, Casey, we got him. We are taking him out of the building and moving to the safe house. Meet us there. Thanks for your help."

"Wait," said Sarah, "where's the safe house?"

Harris gave her an address in Long Beach.

Casey motioned Chuck over to the bar and poured him ginger ale. "Harris says they caught La Ciudad. Sarah and I are going to the safe house to help with the interrogation."

"Want me there?"

"Yeah, but you can't come. We can't explain your presence at all, much less tell them about the Intersect. We'll get copies of the tapes of the interrogation. Maybe you can flash on something the guy says or something."

"Ok, good luck. What do you want me to do?"

With a shrug, Casey said, "Up to you. Stay at the party. Go home for a rest. Hit the gym. Up to you."

"Ok, I think I'll stay for the auction. I've never seen an auction before and I'm curious."

"Ok, you good to get home?"

"Oh, sure. I'll take a cab," said Chuck. "Good luck, tonight. Hope the guy sings."

"Later," said Casey slapping him gently on the arm. As Chuck was rubbing the ache out of his arm, he caught Sarah's eye. She blew him a kiss. He did the same in response as she and Casey left the party.

Sarah and Casey made it back to the Crown Vic. As Casey started up the car, Sarah said, "Long Beach? What the hell? That's like an hour away. What's wrong with these people?"

"Unfamiliar city, I guess. I might make the same mistake operating in Manchester," said Casey.

"No, you wouldn't. You'd look at a goddamn map," she groused.

Casey shrugged and mentally prepared himself for the long drive.

Chuck stood by the bar sipping his ginger ale and people watching. An enormous man with a goatee beard and a head roughly the size and shape of a cinder block came up beside him and ordered a vodka on the rocks. His voice made deep voices sound shrill. Chuck noticed a tattoo on the back of the man's hand in the shape of a design he recognized.

Chuck turned to the man and asked, "You a fan of The Rough Badgers?" The man looked at Chuck with confusion until Chuck gestured to the band's logo on the back of his hand.

"Uhh, yeah. Yeah, I am. My favorite band," said the giant.

"Yeah. I liked their last album. Except for "No Nothing'. I didn't think that song was too good."

"Too much base," said the man with way too much base in his voice, nodding his head in agreement.

"Totally, and Vance doesn't normally make that mistake," said Chuck.

"He did in 'Last Chance" on the Vee album," said the giant. "That one had just the same problem."

"You know, now that I think of it, you are absolutely right. That one had too much base too. I'm Chuck, by the way." He stuck out his hand and shook with the bigger man. The man's hand was the size of a small shovel.

"Yuri," said Yuri.

"What's your favorite album by them?"

"Well...two of them...I like the music on Vee, but the lyrics are much better on Summer Hate. How about you?" asked Yuri.

"Long Road. I listen to it all the time. You ever see them in concert?"

"I did. Two years ago in Prague. Good concert. They were doing music from Vee."

"They are really good live. High energy. They are here in LA in a couple of months, I was thinking of getting tickets."

"Why don't you?" asked Yuri.

"I don't know. My new girlfriend isn't that into music."

"You must teach her. It's part of your job as her man," said Yuri.

Chuck smiled, laughed, and said, "Right again, my friend. I should. Will you be getting tickets?"

"No. I'm only here for a few more days. Business trip."

"Oh, too bad. Guess you can check the schedule to see where else they'll be next."

"I might do that. Thanks for the idea. I always forget to do these things until it's too late," said Yuri.

"Me too. What other bands do you like?" asked Chuck.

Before Yuri could answer, a woman joined them.

She was truly beautiful in a somewhat exotic way. Long, lustrous dark hair, dark eyes, and smiling lips, she was wearing long dangling earrings and a dark sleeveless dress that displayed a shapely figure. She smiled at them, showing strong white teeth and said, "So, who are you that you have stolen my Yuri?" She spoke with a slight Spanish accent, maybe Latin American.

Yuri grunted, and Chuck said with a smile, "I'm Chuck...well, Charles. Charles Carmichael. And honestly, had I known Yuri was yours I'd never have monopolized his time. A woman as beautiful as you should not be abandoned by her date."

"I am Malena," she reached forward to shake his hand. Her hand was warm and soft, her grip strong. "And, he's not my date, Mr. Carmichael. Yuri is here to protect me from the unwanted advances of single men. As is his partner." She gestured at a Yuri clone off to one side.

"Well, if that's their job, Malena, I think you are going to need a few more guys. Because, as big as these men are, they certainly aren't big enough to keep men from hitting on you unless all the men are blind. Seems like a lost cause, in my opinion."

Her laugh was charming and musical. With it, she tossed back her head and Chuck saw the scar on her neck. He flashed. Scenes of her being cut...soldiers...weapons...Middle East...La Cuidad. She was La Ciudad. Holy shit. And she killed anyone who saw her face. Holy shit, holy shit.

He looked at her face and was suddenly really, really nervous. "Are you always this charming, Mr. Carmichael?"

Casey, Sarah and the two MI-6 agents were all gone. And they had the wrong guy. Oh, God. He had to call them. He had to tell them that this was right guy...gal...Oh, God. And she had two bodyguards with her, each the size of Belarus.

"Not me. I ...I get nervous around beautiful women...I tend to stammer and I don't really know what to say...and ...um...can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, champagne, please."

He ordered her a glass of champagne. While they waited, he asked, "Are you here for the auction?"

With a faintly amused smile she said, "Yes. Are you?"

He grinned, wrinkling his nose a little bit and said, "Yes...I mean no. Wow, that was a pretty dumb question, wasn't it? I mean of course you are here for the auction. I'm here to look. At the paintings. Look at the paintings. I'm not sure I'm going to bid, but who knows? Are you going to bid?"

He handed her her champagne. "I may. If I find something here I like, I may choose to take it home." She sipped her champagne and gave him a frankly appraising stare with a tiny smile. He almost spilled his ginger ale.

"Ummm...should we look at the paintings, Malena? Maybe you will see something you like."

"Maybe, I will" she said.

They began to walk around the room with the auction items on display. Yuri and his friend followed them. They stopped to admire Water Lilies at Dusk. Chuck said, "Ah, yes. Water Lilies painted by Adolpho Bernini."

"How do you know that, Mr. Carmichael?"

"It's written on that little brass plaque right there." He gestured to the frame. She laughed again. Chuck continued, with a vaguely pompous academic air, "It does have a great deal of the influence of the Rossi school, in the mix of color and the prominent perspective. The use of light is particularly startling given the time frame in which it was commissioned by the Archduke of Tatooine. Sunsets are usually of a somewhat brighter hue."

"It sounds like you know a great deal about art, Mr. Carmichael."

"Absolutely not. I just made all that stuff up off the top of my head," he said with a goofy grin. "How did it sound?"

She laughed a deep genuine laugh. Even Yuri was chuckling. A man approached and reached out his hand for Chuck's. "Chuck?" he said. "Chuck Bartowski? It's me, Allan Watterman...From Stanford. How are you? Great to see you here. What's new?"

"Uhh, Allan, look I'm a little..."

Watterman reached for Malena's hand, "Hi, I'm Allan Watterman. I knew Chuck at Stanford."

"Ah, Allan, I'm going by Carmichael nowadays."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Watterman," said Malena, but she was no longer smiling.

Watterman appeared not to have noticed. "So, I have this company called Zink Link and..."

Chuck flashed. He said, "So Allan, having any trouble with all that insider trading stuff? You know, the offshore accounts in the Caymans? That kind of thing?"

Suddenly, Watterman looked like he might urinate himself. "What? How do you know that? Are you with the SEC? I have to go." He turned on his heel and fled.

Malena was still not smiling. Chuck said to her, "Can I tell you a secret?"

She said, "I look forward to it."

He said, "I never liked him at school."

She smiled slightly and said, "Was that when you were using your real name?"

"Well, it was when I was using the name on my birth certificate, but I didn't like that name, so, I'm changing it. I prefer Carmichael. I think it sounds cooler, more sophisticated. What do you think?"

"Maybe," said Malena. She was still suspicious of him, but didn't look ready to shoot him on the spot.

He reached out for help. "Yuri, help me out here, buddy. Don't you think Carmichael sounds cooler than Bartowski?"

"My last name is Gobrienko. So, sorry, no, I prefer Bartowski," When Chuck looked crestfallen, Yuri said with a shrug, "Well, you asked."

"I did. I did. Can't fault you there." He was desperately thinking of how to get away from these people without arousing suspicion, so he could call Sarah and Casey. If there was good news at the moment, it seems Malena was satisfied with his answer on the fake name, because she was smiling again.

The strains of music started and Malena, who clearly had set aside her discomfort with his fake name situation said, "Ah, a tango. I love a tango."

"Who doesn't?"

"Do you, Chuck? Do you tango?"

"Actually, no. I keep meaning to learn, but haven't had the time yet."

"Come with me. I'll teach you."

"Really? Here? Now?" he asked.

"Unless you are embarrassed to be seen dancing with me," she raised a challenging eyebrow. The thought that she might kill him if she got suspicious was never far from his mind. Hell, she might kill him anyway.

"You sure you aren't embarrassed to be seen teaching me? I have two left feet, lousy timing and no coordination."

"I'll take my chances, Chuck."

As Mozart's Duettino – Sull'aria began, Malena said, "Here, Chuck. Put your hand here, on my hip. Very good, now this. When I step back with my right foot, you step forward with your left," she began to move in time to the music and he did his best to keep up and mirror her foot movements. "Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow...ok, Chuck. Very good. You learn fast."

"That's because I'm terrified," She raised an eyebrow. That seemed to be her 'go-to' facial expression. "...of making you look foolish trying to teach a clod like me a passionate dance like the tango."

"Are you not a passionate man, Chuck?" Her eyes twinkled with merriment.

"Um...that is...I mean...a normal amount of passion...I mean...not like extra," he said.

She chuckled and smiled at him again and said, "You are intriguing, Chuck. You aren't like most men I meet. Tell me about yourself." Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to him that Sarah had said almost the same thing when they first got together.

The dance ended and Chuck said, "I will do that, Malena. In just a few minutes. But right now, I'm going to start by telling you one particular thing about me, which is that I have to visit the little boy's room. I will be right back, though, I promise. Please don't dance with anyone else while I'm gone."

She smiled at him as he walked away. Outside the room, he asked someone which way to the men's room. The man, very large, with a closely shaved head, a small goatee beard and an English accent, said, "Oh, just heading there myself, mate. Come with me."

He led Chuck down a corridor to a quieter part of the hotel. Without warning, Chuck felt the back of his neck spasm and that feeling spread until his whole body was experiencing a muscle cramp at the same time. As he fell to the floor, a hood was placed over his head and the world went black.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I own my mistakes, but I do not own Chuck.

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Harris was certainly pleased with himself. He had gotten rid of those annoying American agents. (Right, like that woman, Walker, could ever go undercover. Typical CIA Hollywood stupidity. The only place she would ever blend in was the swimsuit competition of a beauty contest and even then she would stand out. What in the world were these Yanks thinking? Hadn't they ever heard of the "grey men of the service"?) Now he had a free hand to deal with La Ciudad however he saw fit, at least until the auction was over and the Americans returned with their knickers in a twist. And he'd cowed that idiot boy scout Renny into submission. He wouldn't have any trouble with the man for the balance of the mission.

But mostly he was pleased that he was poised to get his hands on La Ciudad. After years of frustration with this bastard and months of chasing him across the world, he was really about to do it. While it was a feather in his cap professionally, he would also derive deep personal satisfaction. He knew the man had gotten under his skin in a big way. He was really going to enjoy this.

He and Renny surveyed the room full of black ties and ball gowns and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Overweight, spoiled Yanks and their spoiled wives. Nothing of interest. Eventually, Renny nudged him.

"Isn't that Yuri the Gobbler?" he asked.

"It bloody well is," said Harris. "Wonder what he's doing here. He's Volkoff's pit bull."

"Well, we're not going to find Volkoff here. Yuri must be freelancing," said Renny.

"No way. He wouldn't freelance on Volkoff. That's suicide. Much more likely that Volkoff lent him out...to La Ciudad," said Harris with excitement rising in his voice.

"Why would Volkoff lend him to a competitor?" asked Renny.

"I don't know. Peace offering? Joint venture to collect the plutonium? Spy in the enemy's camp? Who cares? What I do know is it's not a bloody coincidence. Watch him."

"He's talking to a man at the bar."

"I see. They seem friendly. La Ciudad maybe?" asked Harris. "Here comes a woman, and a second bodyguard. Exactly the sort of entourage you would expect from La Ciudad. Woman and two goons." They continued to watch the little party as they moved away from the bar to look at the art. The woman on the man's arm and the bodyguards shadowing them both.

"They are stopping in front of Water Lilies," said Renny.

"That's our man, Renny. That's La Ciudad." The music started and La Ciudad and his woman moved to the dance floor. "My God, Renny. What a pair of brass balls on that bloke. Fancy dress bash like this and he's having his woman teach him the tango. In front of all these people. Now that's self-confidence, Renny. Totally unconcerned with what the hoi polloi think. Arrogant bastard. Just look at that."

"When are going to take him, Harris?" There was an eagerness to Renny's voice. As much as he may have disagreed with Harris on this mission, he too was caught up in the thrill of the hunt.

"Soon, lad," said Harris. "We look for an opportunity when he is away from the others. If nothing presents itself, we kill the Gobbler and his partner and take La Ciudad."

"And the woman?" asked Renny.

"Who cares? If she gets in the way we kill her, if not she can go home and begin the search for her next sugar daddy."

"Brilliant," said Renny brimming with excitement.

"We got him, Renny. We finally got him." Harris was exultant.

They stalked La Ciudad until the dance finished. As La Ciudad excused himself from his companions, Renny positioned himself outside the room to follow. To his astonishment, their target approached him directly and asked for directions to the loo. Renny led him to a quiet corridor where Harris was lying in wait with a taser. The rest was easy.

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Casey and Sarah looked at the vacant lot at the address in Long Beach that Harris had given them.

"Son of a bitch," she said.

"Limey bastard," said Casey. "I'm going to strangle the little shit."

"Not if I get to him first, because I'm going to rip his head clean off his scrawny body."

"Let's get back there."

"Yeah," she said. "I'll call Chuck and see if anything is happening."

A moment later she said into her phone, "Chuck, it's me. Call me when you get this. Harris faked us out. What's going on there?"

Meanwhile, Casey had turned the car around and put the gas pedal to the floor.

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The hood was pulled off Chuck's head and he blinked in the sudden light. He was bound to a chair with plastic ties at wrists and ankles. It seemed to be a hotel suite in the Wiltshire Strand Hotel, upstairs, but he couldn't tell what floor. He was facing two men. His tuxedo jacket and tie had been removed leaving him in the shirt and suspenders. Both men had also removed their jackets and ties, although the younger of the two, probably Renny, had also rolled up his sleeves.

With a nod from Harris, Renny punched Chuck in the face, splitting his lip.

"WHAT THE HELL, GUYS? AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO ASK A QUESTION FIRST? JESUS CHRIST!" Chuck yelled. His face and lip hurt and he was deeply shocked. Which, some part of him realized, was exactly the point.

"Wanted to get your attention," said the older one, with an English accent, probably Harris.

"Ever think to try saying, 'Excuse me'? It's always worked in the past," said Chuck.

"You're a funny man, La Ciudad," said Harris.

"Oh, this is good. You see, you picked up the wrong guy. I'm Charles Bartowski...people call me Chuck... I'm not Mr. Ciudad...Polish, not Spanish... Wrong guy. So, you guys can let me go and go look for your Spanish friend. If I see him, I'll be sure to send him your way."

Renny hit him again. "GODAMMIT. STOP THAT." He looked at the blood dripping onto his tuxedo shirt. "Does blood come out of cotton? Because this is a new shirt and I don't want to have to replace it."

"Talk to us. You know what happens if you don't," said Harris.

"If I don't? This guy will keep punching me, I guess. Are you the brains? And he's a thug? Hey, did you know where the word thug comes from? India. The British Raj. The thugees were a death cult worshipping Kali the goddess of death. See, as British guys I thought you'd appreciate that." Renny pulled back his hand to punch once again. Chuck said, "STOP, ok...ok...listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I am not Ciudad. Your Spanish friend. I am Bartowski. I don't know you and you don't know me. You obviously have me confused with someone else. Common mistake. People are always saying I look like somebody else. Happens to me all the time. Bet it happens to you too. You have a common face. You both do. But, see? In this case, you have made a mistake."

Chuck knew Sarah and Casey were gone for a while at least. Harris had sent them on a wild goose chase. But once they realized that, they would come back with a vengeance. He hoped he could stall these guys long enough.

He felt a strange metallic taste in his mouth and realized it was his own blood. He looked around the room. "Guys, could you move that garbage can over here, please?"

"Why?" asked Renny.

"Because I want to spit the blood out of my mouth and I don't want to spit on the hotel's carpet."

Renny looked to Harris in confusion. This was a new one on him. Hundreds of interrogations, and no one had ever made such a request. Harris shrugged, so Renny moved the can over. Chuck spit into it.

"Thanks," he said.

"So, let's get down to business, shall we?" asked Harris.

"By all means," said Chuck. He knew he could stop this simply, just by telling them he worked with Sarah and Casey, but that would put the team in a bind trying to explain who he was and why he was previously undisclosed to the MI-6 guys. He was counting on the fact that British Secret Service agents were the good guys and they would beat him up, but not maim or kill him. He didn't particularly want to take a beating, but it was preferable to disclosing the Intersect secrets.

"What is your name?"

"Charles Irving Bartowski...people call me Chuck."

"Where are you from, Chuck?"

"I'm from right here in Los Angeles. I've lived in a few areas in town, but right now I live in Burbank."

"And what do you do, Chuck?"

"I play video games. Read a lot. Watch movies with my friends when I can. Oh, and I listen to a lot of music. Do you guys listen to music?"

Harris sighed in mock exasperation and motioned to Renny, who drew back a hand to punch Chuck again, "WAIT. Do you mean what do I do for a living? Ok, I fix computers. I work at the Buy More in Burbank. At the Nerd Herd desk...I'm the supervisor there. I fix computers...I make $11 an hour. I don't know what that translates to in Euros...oh, wait, you're English you don't use Euros...Pounds...I don't know how much it is in Pounds, but it's not a lot of American money, so I'm a little strapped for cash... that's why I'm worried about this shirt, you see. It's new...oh, I told you that already."

"If you are so strapped for cash, _Chuck_ ," Harris said his name like it was a foreign object that had lodged in his throat. "How are you here? How did you obtain an invitation to this auction?"

"I didn't."

They looked at him with disbelief. "I didn't, guys. I snuck in. I waited until enough time had passed, went to the sign in desk and read the names upside down. One of the attendees had not checked in yet, so I said I was him. They don't check ID's or anything at the desk, so they waved me through. It's easy. I've done it a dozen times at other big parties. It's easiest to do at weddings, so long as you leave after the cocktail hour."

"You don't carry any ID on you. Only cash, house keys and your phone."

"Of course not. If I'm sneaking in someplace under a fake name, I'd be really, really stupid to carry something that said Bartowski, now wouldn't I? I may not be a superspy," Harris and Renny looked at each other, "but give me a little credit for crissakes. That would just be dumb."

"Are you an art lover, Chuck?"

"Oh, hell no."

"Then why sneak into an art auction?" asked Harris.

"To get laid," said Chuck.

"What?" asked Harris. He and Renny looked at each other.

"To get laid. Come on guys. You know what that is right? What do they call it where you come from? Shag? Boink? You know, fornicate? Make the two backed beast? Visit the happy valley? Hit a home..."

"Alright, alright. We get it, Chuck. Could you explain how you think an art auction is … conducive to that?" asked Harris.

Chuck spit more blood into the garbage can and said, "Women love the tux..but I don't have to tell you guys that, right?... and a nice party...and you act all sophisticated and stuff .. look, I'm not saying it works every time...but maybe one out of three...one out of four...even if it doesn't work and I don't score, there's an open bar and enough free hors d'ouerves to make dinner."

Renny and Harris looked at each other again. Harris said, "Stay here, Chuck." and smiled at his own little joke.

"Yup," said Chuck. "Right here. I'm having so much fun talking with you both. I really don't want to leave. Right here. Hey, can I get a beer?"

They went into the ante-chamber by the door to the suite and had a whispered conversation. Chuck heard the murmur of words but couldn't make out what was being said.

They came back into the room and Renny punched Chuck in the face again. "GODDAMMIT. And I was just starting to like you guys," said Chuck. He felt his right eye start to swell shut. He made a decision that, provided he survived this, he would never take up the sport of boxing.

Harris spoke with fierce anger, "Enough bullshit, Ciudad. We don't have time for this. Tell us about Yuri the Gobbler."

"Yuri? The Gobbler? What, is he a turkey?" Renny drew back. "NO, NO, NO. Don't hit me again. I met Yuri at the bar. We were talking about a band we both like. Seems like a nice guy. What?"

"So, you mean to tell us that he's not your bodyguard?"

"Bodyguard? Me. Have you seen this body? Who would guard it? No, he was with Malena. I was hitting on her. In a nice way, of course. I'm not a jerk...She's a really classy girl...woman..classy woman. See, they don't like it if you call them girls...it's demeaning. And pretty, huh? She's really pretty. And she has a sexy accent and dresses really nice. Did you guys see? I thought I was doing pretty well with her until you assholes...sorry, that just slipped out...gentlemen, crashed the party looking for your Spanish friend."

Harris got right into Chucks face and hissed in fury, "This is bullshit. You are La Ciudad."

"Listen, guys. I want to help you. I really do. If this Ciudad guy looks like me, maybe he's still downstairs and you can find him." Chuck was careful not to reveal that he knew that they didn't know what Ciudad looked like. Or that he was a she. Or that she was Malena. Or that Sarah was going to beat the living shit out of them for punching him in the face repeatedly. Casey would probably join in too, just on general principles or maybe just for fun.

"You are La Ciudad. You brought your woman and two bodyguards with you to this auction. Tell us what you were going to bid on."

"Ummm. I don't know what you want me to be bidding on. There are something like twenty pieces downstairs. If I start guessing and guess wrong do you have him punch me for every wrong answer? Cause that's probably ten punches or so. I mean, you know, the laws of probability and all that. I mean, I could guess right the first time and save myself a punch in the face, or I could be unlucky and get punched nineteen times before I guess right. Overall, this isn't a game that I stand a good chance of even breaking even. Can we do this differently? Can you tell me what you want me to bid on and I'll bid on it? I don't have any money, but I don't really care right now. I've never actually bid on something before. Hey, if I bid, do they charge Carmichael, the guy I'm pretending to be? Cause if that's the case, I'll bid on everything. Right? Who cares then?"

Renny punched him in the face again, but this time Chuck saw it coming and moved his head at the last instant, so the punch slid off his cheek. But he still yelled, "ASSHOLE. Shit...I meant me. I'm the asshole, not you. See I'm an asshole for coming to this auction. It's sort of like theft. So, this is like payback for me stealing. It's like a karma thing."

With calm calculation, Harris took his Browning out of its shoulder holster and began to screw on the silencer. Chuck, observing that with wide eyes, said, "No, no, no...guys, you don't want to kill me. Let's think about this for a minute. Ok? Let's just stop and think. Ok, there are two choices. Either I'm Ciudad or I'm not. Right? Those are the only two choices. Ok...so if I'm Ciudad, and you kill me, this is over and you can't ask me your questions...whatever questions you have...or...maybe I'm not Ciudad, right? If I'm Bartowski and you shot me, you really haven't accomplished anything cause you killed the wrong guy. So, either way, killing me is a mistake. See? So, put that gun away."

"You don't understand, Ciudad," said Harris, bending down to talk to Chuck with his face right in Chuck's face. "I learned my business fighting the IRA. They had a nice little punishment. They would take an electric drill and destroy your knee cap. It was lovely. All over Belfast you'd see lads limping for the rest of their lives. The knee was never the same after that. So, you see, La Ciudad, I'm not going to kill you," he put the end of the silencer against Chuck's right knee, "I'm just going to shoot you here. Renny, count for me."

Renny said, "Three...Two..."

Chuck screamed, "WATER LILIES."

"Ah," Harris said. "Yes, kneecapping focuses the mind very well. Yes, Chuck. Tell me about Water Lilies." He removed the gun from Chuck's knee.

"Look, I know what you did. I know about the switch. But I swear I didn't tell anyone. I didn't. I know how it is...you had your reasons. And I won't tell anyone. I know a lot of criminals...It's no big deal...Look how hard it was to get me to talk to you...and I would have just been telling you about the switch that you did...and I still didn't say anything...right?"

"Tell me about the switch, Chuck," said Harris.

"You switched paintings. This one is a fake.. a forgery...not the original painting. You are pulling a scam...which is fine...I have nothing against..."

Harris interrupted, "Wait...what? Why are you saying that?"

"The picture in the paper. The picture that illustrated the article about this auction, was a picture of the Water Lilies painting, but it had a different frame. The painting had a different frame. You switched them. But listen, it's ok...I won't tell anyone."

Harris and Renny looked at each other in confusion. This was not going the way they planned. While they stood there indecisive, the door buzzer rang.

Renny moved to the door and out of Chuck's sight. He heard the sound of the door opening and a man's voice and a woman's voice from the hallway. Yes, thought Chuck, with a mental fist pump. It wasn't a kind thought, but he sort of hoped that Sarah and Casey would let him watch while they beat up Harris and Renny.

There was a noise like a metallic mechanical bang and Renny stumbled back into the room with a hole in the center of his chest. The Yuri clone followed him in with a silenced pistol held out in front of him at arms-length. Harris, his gun already in his hand, raised it and fired. The noise was the same sort of mechanical bang. A small part of Chuck's brain registered the fact that a silenced pistol does not sound like the pppfffftttt from TV. The Yuri clone fell dead with a bullet in his head. Yuri himself followed into the room immediately behind his partner and shot Harris right between the eyes. Malena entered last, her pistol in her hand, but unfired.

"Hi, Chuck," she said with a pretty smile.

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I really want to thank my friends on this site who have reviewed this story over and over again. I really appreciate it. This is a really terrific community and I'm glad I found you folks. Thanks.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Do you realize that with a single typo you could won Chuck?

Not too canony. Actually, not canony in the slightest. (Thanks, David Carner and Steampunk Chuckster for coining a new word.)

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"Hi, Chuck," Malena said with a pretty smile.

Chuck looked at her, at Yuri with the still smoking weapon in his huge hand, and at the three dead bodies on the floor. It had all happened so fast. He made no attempt to hide his shock, and would probably not have been able to do so if he tried.

"Malena..." She waited for him to continue. He looked around the room again and finally said, "Are you the police?"

She laughed. Yuri chuckled, which sounded a little like rocks rolling around in the bottom of a deep cave. "No, Chuck, not the police," she said.

"CIA?"

"No. I'm sorry to tell you this, Chuck, but I'm not one of the good guys," she said with a remorseful shake of her head.

"I don't understand. You just saved my life. You're absolutely a good guy," said Chuck. "These assholes were going to kill me...they didn't even have the right guy...they were looking for some Spanish guy...they were still going to kill me...and you saved me, you both did. Thank you."

"Chuck, I didn't come here to save you. I came here to kill them. And now that you've seen my face, I have to kill you too."

"WHAT? NO! WHY? YOU JUST SAVED ME. I don't understand, Malena. Why? I'm on your side. Why would you have to kill me?"

"Chuck, I can't have people who've seen my face live. What I do..."

"Malena," Chuck tried to raise his hands in a 'stop' gesture, but bound to the chair he did no more than sort of flap them. "Malena, please stop talking...please stop...please." When it was clear that she had stopped he said, "Ok, I understand secrecy...I really do...so here's the thing...You have really nice teeth..." She frowned and looked a little puzzled, but allowed him to continue. "Really nice. They are straight and really, really white. You could be a model or an actress if you wanted to be. And this is Los Angeles...Hollywood... everyone here has nice teeth...but even by those standards, your teeth are really nice... You didn't kill your dentist, did you? ...Right, of course not...See? People get to see your face and live. Your dentist is still alive. Why is your dentist still alive? Because he doesn't know your secret. Or she.. Your dentist could be a woman...So, here's the thing...you are really scary," She looked at him with a surprised frown. "Not bad scary...scary like an Amazon ...or a valkyrie...scary like a woman warrior...not scary like a lunatic psychopath who's gonna shoot up an elementary school...you can't kill everyone who's seen your face...the bartender downstairs saw your face...everybody who watched you try to teach me the tango saw your face...you can't kill everyone who saw your face...it would be insane...if you really couldn't let anyone see your face and live, you could never leave your house and that would really suck...so, the thing is...you have a secret ...and I get that, I really do..so, if someone sees your face AND knows your secret you have to kill them..Ok, fine...a little odd, but fine...here's the thing...I don't know the secret...I made you stop talking so you wouldn't tell me the secret, even by accident...because I really, really don't want to know the secret cause then you would have to kill me and I hate that idea. So, since I don't know your secret and you are not going to tell me the secret, you don't have to kill me." She looked pensive, but Yuri was nodding along slowly. Chuck continued, "Malena, even Yuri agrees with me. It makes sense, right?" he asked Yuri, with desperation in his voice. Yuri made a face and gave a shrug which, combined, meant 'yeah, Chuck makes some sense here'. "See, he agrees. You don't have to kill me. You'll leave here and never see me again and all I will remember is that you and Yuri saved my life."

She looked like she was thinking very hard about what Chuck had said. Finally, she said, "Well, you did say some nice things about me to these cabrones."

"You heard that?"

"Yes," she said. She went to pick up one of the tuxedo jackets lying on the couch. It was evidently not the one she wanted. Chuck's was the second one she tried. She ran her hand along the shoulder of the jacket and removed what looked like a needle. She held it up to him and said, "Transmitter. I put it on your jacket while we were dancing. Just in case."

He gave her a goofy grin that made his nose wrinkle and said, "Well, then I'm glad I only said nice things about you...about you both."

She smiled at him while he looked at her with pleading puppy dog eyes. Finally, she stepped forward and kissed him hard on his bloody lips and whispered into his ear, "If we hadn't been interrupted, you would have gotten laid tonight."

She stood up and wiped his blood from her lips with the back of her hand. He looked suitably stunned. Turning to Yuri, she said, "Sanitize him," she pointed to the clone, "Then cut Chuck loose and meet me at the car."

"Right," said Yuri.

She turned to Chuck, "Bye, Chuck."

"Bye, Malena. And thank you for saving my life and then not killing me yourself."

She smiled slightly and left the hotel suite.

Yuri quickly went through the clone's pockets and removed anything that might be used to identify the man. When he was done, he took out a knife and cut the plastic ties binding Chuck to the chair. Chuck stood up rubbing his wrists.

"Yuri," said Chuck with a serious tone, "I've never had anyone save my life before...I...I...I mean," Chuck almost had tears in his eyes. "You did it twice...once by killing these assholes and once by supporting me and convincing Malena not to kill me...twice you did it...I mean, I've just met you...we aren't even really friends yet...and I know you have to leave soon...you told me you were here on a short business trip...It's just...I don't know how to thank you, Yuri...I can't thank you...I can never thank you enough...I don't have much money...but, I...hey, you know? Here, take my watch...It's a really nice watch...Please take it. I want you to have it...please."

"Oh, Chuck, that is not necessary...You are a good man...I'm happy you get to live...I can't take your watch...a watch is special to a man..."

"No, Yuri...this is ok...it's a nice watch...my brother gave it to me...he stole a crate of them. There are boxes of them in his closet someplace, I think. I can talk to my brother and get a new watch tomorrow. Please take this one." Chuck took the watch off his wrist and began to strap it to Yuri's wrist. "And please, Yuri, when you look at it, please remember that it's from your friend Chuck and that he thanks you for his life."

Yuri looked a little teary eyed himself. "Ok, Chuck. OK, I will." Chuck reached out and wrapped the bigger man in a huge hug.

"Thank you, Yuri. Thank you."

Yuri broke the hug, and said, "Take care of yourself, Chuck."

"You too, Yuri. You too."

Yuri left the hotel suite. Chuck cleaned up a little and then he left as well.

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"Shit, Chuck is on the move. He's leaving the hotel," said Sarah looking at her phone.

"Why hasn't the moron been answering the phone? You must have called him five times in the last half hour," said Casey. They hadn't been worried about Chuck until they realized he wasn't returning their calls. Then their imaginations took off and all kinds of terrible scenarios started to come to mind. Now, like parents scared for a child, they were slightly frantic.

The phone in her hand rang, "Chuck, where have you been? Are you ok? Where are you going?"

"I'm ok. I'm ok. Please pick me up behind the hotel. The service entrance, please."

"But you are on the move. You aren't at the hotel anymore."

"Yeah. I am. The back of the hotel, please. I promise, I'll explain when you get here."

"Ok. There soon."

"Thanks. Bye."

Casey drove to the hotel at ludicrously illegal speeds. Fifteen minutes later the Crown Vic pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel with a screech of tires. Sarah saw Chuck in the shadows near the service entrance of the hotel and directed Casey towards him.

As the car got closer, Sarah saw the damage to his face and drew a sharp breath. He held a blood-stained towel to his face. His lip was swollen and cut, but no longer bleeding. His right eye was pretty much shut. The left side of his face was also somewhat swollen. Blood had run down and stained the front of his tuxedo shirt. As the car drew up, she was about to leap from it before it had even come to a stop when they saw his arm motions. He waved to them and then, in a rather exaggerated manner, put a finger to his lips. Making eye contact, he did the same exaggerated movement a second time, requesting silence. They got out of the car without saying a word and walked to him. He held up his phone. Written on the screen was **CHECK ME FOR BUGS.** Casey made an OK gesture, took a small device from the car and began to wave it around Chuck.

Meanwhile, Sarah's hands went to his face. She moved the towel aside, realizing it was filled with ice, and lightly ran her fingers over his cuts and bruises assessing the damage. She thought, 'Oh God, he's hurt, oh God.' She felt a deep emotional pain in her own chest. It was almost a physical pain, it hurt her so much. She had to hold back tears. Her fingers shook slightly.

Casey said, "Clear." Dropping the monitor into his pocket, he stepped forward.

Sarah was now voicing her thoughts, "Oh, God, Chuck. You're hurt.."

"I'm ok. I'm ok, Sarah," he said.

Gently, Casey moved her aside. "I got this. I got this. Sarah, I got this. It's ok. I got this." The use of her first name startled her enough that she moved back a step and let Casey examine Chuck.

Chuck was saying, "I'm ok, guys. I'm ok."

Casey said, "Come here. Into the light." They moved a couple of steps. Casey looked his face over. "Did you lose consciousness?" Chuck shook his head no. "Ok, good. Any teeth loose?" Chuck ran his tongue around his mouth and again shook his head no. "Right, again good." Casey was examining the damage to Chuck's face.

"Anywhere else? Just the face?"

"Yup, just the face."

Sarah had taken a couple of deep breaths and calmed herself down. 'What is wrong with me?' she thought. 'Calm down. Carina took that beating in Miami, I was fine. I helped her just fine. Hell, when Bryce got slashed in the knife fight in Oslo, I stitched him up myself. I was fine. Cool, calm and collected. Here, I freak out.' She put the question aside to deal with another day.

Casey said, "Dizzy?"

"Nope."

"Double vision? Blurry? Ringing in the ears?"

"Nope, none of that."

"Nausea?"

"Nope."

"Ok," said Casey. "Doesn't sound like a concussion. We'll keep an eye on you tomorrow, though. Put the ice back on." Chuck did so.

"Ok," said Chuck. "So, here's what..."

"Who did this?" asked Sarah, with fury in her voice.

"Harris and Renny. But listen..."

"I'm going to kill them. I'm going to actually kill them," said Sarah.

"No, listen to me..." said Chuck.

"No, Chuck, this time..." said Sarah.

"Sarah, they're already dead. Just listen..." he said.

"Dead? Who killed them?" asked Sarah.

"La Ciudad's bodyguards. But listen, let me tell..."

Casey said, "La Ciudad. You ID'ed him? Is he still..."

"Guys, please. Please, just let me tell you what happened. If I tell it chronologically, it will make more sense. I promise all your questions will be answered. Please."

"Ok," said Casey. "Let's sit." They got into the car. Sarah and Casey in front and Chuck behind. Casey and Sarah twisted around to face Chuck in the back.

"So, after you left, I hung around the bar for a while. I got into a conversation with a guy about a rock band we both like. The guy's name is Yuri Gobrienko." Sarah and Casey exchanged a look, but did not interrupt. "Turns out, he was there as a bodyguard to a woman named Malena. I don't know her last name. But I flashed on her. She is La Ciudad."

"La Ciudad is a woman? Godammit," said Casey.

"Shit. I know, right? Duh. We should have known. 'Cuidad' is a feminine noun in Spanish. That's why "la" instead of "el". Shit. It was right there all along," said Sarah. "Describe her, Chuck."

"Our age or so," he said, waggling a finger between him and Sarah. "Couple of inches shorter than you. Very pretty. Brunette. Brown eyes. Hair down to here," he put a horizontal hand a few inches below his shoulder. "No tattoos or anything I saw, but a scar on the left side of her neck. That's what I flashed on. Spanish or Latin American accent, but her English is fluent. Intelligent. Charming, but carries herself with a formidable air, like a successful business woman might."

"Ok, Chuck. Go on. What happened next?" said Sarah, reaching back to touch his arm.

"Right, so Malena and I were talking and looking at the paintings up for auction. I knew I had to get away from her to call you, so eventually I excused myself to go to the men's room. On my way there, Harris and Renny ambushed me with some electric stun gun thing...that hurts like hell, by the way," Casey nodded. "...And took me upstairs to a suite. They had seen me talking to Yuri and decided I was La Ciudad."

"Idiots," said Casey.

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, they were punching me in the face and asking questions when La Cuidad and her bodyguards, Yuri and a clone of Yuri, showed up."

"How did they find you?" asked Sarah.

"That's why I had you check me for bugs a minute ago. She had planted a transmitter on me when she was teaching me to tango at the party."

"She was teaching you to tango? What do you mean she was teaching you to tango?" asked Sarah. She didn't sound happy.

"She was. At the party."

"And you were...learning to tango from her? From La Ciudad? You were learning to tango? You were dancing with her?"

"Well, just one song..umm, piece. Just one piece of music. Then I went to go pee, but really to call you..."

Sarah twisted to look straight ahead and crossed her arms over her chest. She realized that she was really pissed off, and then she was immediately shocked at her own reaction. She was angry at Chuck for getting tango lessons from La Ciudad and furious with the woman. But, on previous missions, before she'd ever met Chuck, Bryce had had sex with marks to get information or access and she couldn't have cared less. Chuck gets a lesson in tango from someone...someone he describes as a pretty brunette...and she finds herself totally in a knot. What the hell? She didn't understand it, but there was no denying it, she was pissed off. Why did she have a different reaction for Bryce and Chuck? She'd have to think about that some more, but now wasn't the time or place.

"Well, I didn't like it. I didn't enjoy it, Sarah. I was afraid she was going to kill me the whole time," said Chuck.

Chuckling, Casey said, "I think seduction missions are in your future, Bartowski. Think you'd be pretty good at that. You're a natural. What do you think, Walker? Is he a natural? We can get him to seduce all the women bad guys we come across...oooh, a pun..."

"Shut up, Casey. Just shut up," said Sarah. She knew she had no right to be angry, but she was.

Still chuckling, Casey said, "Ok, what happened next?"

"Renny, Harris and the clone were all killed in the gun fight. You know silenced pistols don't sound like on TV?"

"Did you get the suite number?" asked Casey. Chuck gave him a look. "Fine, Bartowski, fine. What is it?"

"1543"

"Thank you. Hold on." Casey used his phone to order the cleaners to the room to take care of the bodies. "Ok, go on. So now you are in a room with La Ciudad and Yuri. Why aren't you dead?"

"I talked her out of killing me."

"You what?" asked Sarah, incredulously.

"I convinced her I didn't know her secret and she had no need to kill people who had seen her face but didn't know her secret. I mean, really. The whole 'kill-anyone-who-has-seen-my-face' thing is totally insane if you think about it for just a few seconds. Yuri agreed with me." Casey burst out laughing. "So, she left after deciding not to kill me..." Chuck continued.

"Wait, just wait a second," said Casey still laughing. "Give me time to enjoy this. La Ciudad, one of the most dangerous people on the planet. Kills everybody she meets...and you talk her out of it? You just talk her out of it...Oh, my God, Bartowski...Oh, my God...He talks her out of it, Walker...Oh, my God.. Freaking priceless. I wish there was somebody I could tell. ... Graham and Beckman...Oh, I have to share this right away...it's just too good. I have to call them the moment I get home.."

"Very funny, Casey. But, where is she now, Chuck?" said Sarah, apparently still pissed about the tango lesson.

"She's in the wind again..." said Casey.

"Yeah, but we have a description now. We'll have to get it out before she leaves the country," said Sarah.

"Uh, guys. It might not be that complicated. To thank him for saving my life, I gave Yuri my watch."

Both Casey and Sarah just stared at him for several seconds. Then Casey said, "You planted a tracker on La Ciudad's bodyguard?"

"Yeah."

Casey banged the back of the seat he was sitting on with his fist. "OUTSTANDING WORK, BARTOWSKI. OUTSTANDING," bellowed Casey with an enormous grin. "This just gets better and better."

Despite her anger, Sarah found herself smiling again, "That's awesome, Chuck. Well done."

"Thanks, guys. Ummm, what do we do now?"

"Well, we'll alert the good guys. We'll have a squad prepared to pick up Malena and Yuri in the morning. In the meantime, Sarah will take you home and put you to bed. A little TLC. You had a hell of a night and should get some rest."

"Actually, Casey, it's my turn to do the paperwork. Sorry, Chuck. Two dead MI-6 agents. There's gonna be a ton of paperwork. I'll stay for the cleaners. You take Chuck back to Echo Park. And don't' wait breakfast for me in the morning. I'll probably go right from here to the Wienerlicious. Goodnight, Casey." As she got out of the car, Chuck got out of the back seat to move to the front seat. Standing next to the car, Sarah gave him a nice kiss and said, "Goodnight, Chuck. You did a really good job tonight. I'm proud of you."

"You're not mad at me that she tried to teach me the tango?"

"No. Of course, not. That would be silly. Goodnight. See you tomorrow," she said. She was still mad that Malena tried to teach him the tango.

Casey pulled away and headed out to the highway back to Burbank.

"She's still mad about the tango, isn't she?"

"Probably," said Casey. "She'll get over it. You didn't do anything wrong." He thought for a while and said, "Bet she takes it out on this Malena lady. How much you want to bet she blew us off to make sure she's on the team that goes to pick her up in the morning?"

"Makes sense...I really didn't enjoy being with her...I was scared the whole time," said Chuck.

"Of course, you were. You're not an idiot."

"Even though you always call me moron?" asked Chuck with a smile.

"It's a term of affection, Moron," growled Casey.

They drove in silence for a while then Casey asked, "Did you stick with the Carmichael alias with Harris and Renny?"

"No. I told the truth about my name and the Buy More. Told them I crashed the party to meet girls. The way I figured it, they were MI-6 and the Carmichael alias tied me in to you and Sarah."

"Good decision under the circumstances. The only problem is, now Malena knows your real name."

"Naw. She did anyway. Guy at the party from Stanford recognized me and approached us as I was talking with her. I told her I was changing my name to Carmichael because it sounded cooler." He chuckled. "Mr. Gobrienko disagreed. He preferred Bartowski."

Casey laughed. "How'd you get him to take the watch?"

"You saved my life and I can never repay you. The watch is not a big deal, my brother stole a crate of them and I'll have a new one from him in the morning."

"Where'd you come up with that?"

"I don't know. It just popped into my head."

Casey reached out and squeezed Chuck's arm. "You did good tonight, Chuck. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Casey."

"How do you feel?"

"My face aches, but not as much as I thought."

"You'll have two black eyes, but that's normal. Take tylenol tonight, not aspirin. That would just make the bruising worse. Oh, hell, talk to Ellie and Awesome. You've got the best medical care around right in your apartment."

"What will I tell them?"

"How about you fell down the stairs and landed on your face?"

He chuckled a little and said, "Yeah. That sounds like me."

They arrived at Echo Park and said their goodnights in the courtyard.

"You know, if Sarah were here, she'd tuck me in under the covers," said Chuck with a small smile.

Casey took a step towards Chuck's apartment and said, "Sure, let's go."

Chuck laughed and held up his hands, "So not necessary, but thanks for the willingness to engage."

"See you in the morning, Bartowski. What's for breakfast?"

"Spinach and mushroom frittata," said Chuck.

"Nice... G'night."

"Night."

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Chuck was just putting on his Nerd Herd shirt the next morning when he heard Ellie yell, "Chuck. You've got friends here."

"Be right out," he yelled back.

Slightly early for breakfast, but there was probably a reason. Friends. Plural. So, Sarah had made it after all. Good. He smiled to himself. He'd missed her last night. He had seen three men shot and killed in front of him, and insomnia and bad dreams had given him a pretty bad night's sleep. It would have been nice to just hold her. Maybe she could tell him something to make the memories easier to digest. Hopefully, she wouldn't still be mad at him tonight.

He came out to find Ellie still standing by the door in her blue scrubs with a huge smile and...

"Hi, Chuck," Malena said with a pretty smile.

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AN2: As usual, thanks for reviews and PMs. You guys are the best. I do not frequent any other portions of this site, but I would find it hard to believe that there's a better group of folks out there than the Chuck fans right here. Thanks, guys.

Discussions with my friends Zettel and Sudhanva08 influenced this chapter and my sincere thanks to both of them for their patience, guidance and wisdom.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: You! Hey you! We know you own Chuck, just cop to it.

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and followed along on this trip. It's so much fun to write it, I'm glad you are enjoying reading it.

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The prior night

Yuri walked quickly to the black Cadillac Escalade with the tinted windows and took the driver's seat. Malena was already in the passenger seat, waiting for him.

"Good?" she asked. He started the car and drove away from the hotel. He drove decisively, but without overt haste.

"No problem," he responded. They were speaking in Russian. Although both were fluent in English, Yuri was more comfortable in his native language and Malena was equally comfortable in both languages. She spoke with him in Russian as a courtesy.

"Chuck?" she asked.

"I did as you directed. I cut him loose and left him there. He's smart enough to get out of the room quickly," said Yuri. After a pause he continued, "I'm glad you let him live."

"Would you have killed him if I had told you to?" she asked.

"Of course, but it would have been a mistake. I wouldn't have been pleased with your decision."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because he is an innocent. He is no threat to you...to us. It would have been wanton cruelty serving no rational business purpose. He was right. We aren't psychopaths."

Given his size, many people assumed Yuri was merely Malena's bodyguard, but, in fact, he was an intelligent, trusted, and reliable lieutenant. "So says Yuri the Gobbler?" she asked with a laugh.

He chuckled and replied, "Yes...So, what do we do now, Malena?"

"Well, let's take stock of the good news before we focus on the bad news. The biggest piece of good news is that Harris is dead. That son of a bitch has been dogging us for almost two years. He was a dangerous opponent. And, he had set a clever trap."

"Very clever. We almost fell into it, actually," said Yuri.

"Yes. Using the plutonium as bait was very smart. If he had merely waited until the bidding for the Water Lilies painting, he would have identified me. That would have been a disaster. But he became impatient. He saw you and jumped to the conclusion that a man, it had to be a man of course, you were talking to must have been La Ciudad," said Malena.

"I'm glad he's dead, but the truth is, Malena, we got very lucky. If he hadn't taken Chuck and if you hadn't placed the transmitter on Chuck, we would never have known that the painting was a trap. We would never have found Harris and killed him. His impatience did him in, but we did not cover ourselves in glory here. So, let's focus on the bad news now. No plutonium. The buyers will be disappointed."

"Yes, but they knew we didn't have possession. Intercepted merchandise is a common difficulty in this business. They will not be charged for what we cannot deliver. We still have the missiles and that was the bulk of the order anyway. Their ship is docking tomorrow and the missiles arrive in the afternoon. We can put plutonium on back order, as the retailers say. When we get a lead on some, they will be the first buyer we approach," said Malena.

"Alright, but Harris still bothers me."

"I agree. We don't know what he knew or what else he had planned for us. The fact that he's dead doesn't remove his threat," said Malena. "What if he knew about the missiles? What if he told the Americans? If that transfer is compromised, we could be in serious jeopardy. It's all planned out already, but who knows how safe any of our plans are. Now that we know Harris was so close, any of our existing arrangements for the transfer of the missiles might have been exposed to the Americans. There's only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Make new plans. Get a different crew to help us with the transfer. A new crew. One that Harris could not have compromised or even known about," said Malena.

"Will we have time? The transfer is tomorrow," asked Yuri.

"We will have to scramble, but we ought to be able to find the right men in Los Angeles in time. How hard can it be to find such people here? A few phone calls to..."

"Chuck's brother," said Yuri.

"What?" asked Malena.

"Chuck was so grateful, he gave me his watch to thank me for saving his life."

"Let me see," Malena said. He held out his arm and she examined the watch. "Very nice watch."

"Yes." said Yuri. "Said his brother had stolen a crate of them, so his brother operates outside the law. How many criminals do you know that work totally alone? He'll certainly know one of the local mobs. So long as it's not the Cremini mob, it will be new to us and untouched by Harris and whoever Harris might have told about us. Hopefully Chuck's brother can introduce us to a mob who can get the truck into the Port without inspections. Maybe we will even be lucky again and he will have Port connections of his own."

"The money will be good enough to entice him," said Malena.

"Yes... But do you think we can find Chuck?"

Malena took out her phone and started a search. "Sure. He told Harris he lived in Burbank. So, ...Bartowski's in Burbank...yes, right here. Someplace called Echo Park."

"Good. Head there now?" asked Yuri.

"No. Let him sleep. He had a rough night. We'll go first thing in the morning."

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The next morning

"Hi, Chuck," Malena said with a pretty smile.

"Hi, Malena...Hi, Yuri," he said to Yuri, standing behind Malena. "I'd like you to meet my sister, Ellie. Ellie, this is Malena and Yuri. They were with me last night at the party when I fell down the stairs."

"Pleased to meet you, Ellie" said Malena, shaking Ellie's hand. Inside his head, Chuck was screaming, 'Please don't say anything about Sarah. Please, don't.'

"It's a pleasure," said Yuri gravely, also shaking Ellie's hand.

"We wanted to make sure Chuck was ok this morning," said Malena.

"So nice to meet you both. And that's so sweet of you to check on him," she said with a sincere smile, putting a gentle hand on Malena's arm. "I think he will have a couple of black eyes, but there was no concussion or fractures, so he got lucky."

From behind them came a booming voice, "Come on Ellie, we have to go. We're late already...oh, hello, I didn't know we had company," said Awesome, coming towards the door from the bedrooms also wearing his scrubs.

"Devon, this is Malena and Yuri. New friends of mine," said Chuck.

"Hi...any friend of Chuck's is a friend of mine. Great to meet you both." He shook their hands and said to Yuri, "Wow, dude...you're jacked." Awesome grabbed Yuri's upper arm and squeezed. "Awesome..." he said with a huge toothy grin. "Lift much? How much can you bench?"

"One hundred and eighty kilos," said Yuri with obvious pride.

"Yo, dude, that's huge. I'm nowhere near that yet. But I'm working my way up. Good for you. You ever play football? American football?"

"No. It's not a sport in Russia," said Yuri.

Ellie said, "Ok, boys. Gotta break this up. Devon and I have to go to work. Malena, Yuri, please come in. There's a fresh pot of coffee. It was so nice meeting you both."

"Yeah," said Awesome. "Have a good one." Taking Ellie's arm, they left across the courtyard. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief that Sarah's name had not come up.

"Good morning, Chuck..." said Malena.

Chuck held up a hand to stop her and, pointing to Ellie and Awesome, said, "Like your dentist." It was not a question and his voice lacked his usual easygoing manner.

Malena looked at the retreating pair and said, nodding, "Like my dentist."

Chuck smiled at that and said, "Well, then, come on in. As Ellie said, I have coffee made." He looked over to Casey's apartment and saw the curtains move a little. Casey was watching. Chuck stopped in mid step and said, "Unless you changed your mind about killing me. If you came to kill me, I don't think I want to give you coffee first... or even second, now that I think about it."

"No, Chuck. We didn't come to kill you. Not at all," Malena said with a light chuckle.

They walked into the apartment and Chuck said, while heading into the kitchen and taking some coffee cups out of the cabinet. "How did you find me? I didn't tell you where I live."

"You told the other guys you lived in Burbank. Not too many Bartowski's in Burbank. Actually, though, the reason we are here is that you also told Yuri last night that your brother does business outside the law. We wanted to ask you to introduce us to him. We might want to do some business with him."

"With my brother? Ummm, please don't take this the wrong way, but if I introduce you to him and you do business with him, will you kill him afterwards? Cause I kind of like my brother. I mean, he's a jerk sometimes, but more often than not he's ok. I wouldn't want you to have to kill him."

"No, Chuck," she lied. "Not to worry, it's not that kind of business. I just have to move some merchandise around. That's all. I thought he might know some people who could help."

"Oh, ok. Then here we go. He lives right over there," Chuck pointed across the courtyard. He, Malena and Yuri left his apartment and started across the courtyard.

"You live with your sister and next door to your brother?" asked Yuri.

"Yes. We are a close family."

"You are very lucky, Chuck" said Yuri. "Family is the most important thing."

"Yes, Yuri, it is," said Chuck.

"Here we go." Chuck knocked on Casey's door. When Casey opened it, Chuck noticed that his right hand was hidden behind the door. Chuck was pretty sure that if he noticed it, Malena and Yuri had noticed it too.

Before Casey could speak, Chuck said, "Malena, Yuri, please meet my brother Casey Bartowski. Casey, these are some new friends of mine, Malena and Yuri. A couple of assholes jumped me last night thinking I was somebody else. I got punched in the face a lot," Chuck gestured to his battered face. "Malena and Yuri saved me from them. They are ok in my book...Oh, I told Ellie and Awesome that I fell down the stairs, so don't tell them any different, ok?."

Casey stepped back from the door and they saw the SIG Sauer P229 in his hand, which he put on safe and put down on the table next to his door.

Casey, looking at La Ciudad and her enormous lieutenant said, "How ya doing?" as he shook hands with them. Then he pretended to look at Chuck's face for the first time. "You know where the assholes that did this are? I want to talk to them."

Malena said, "Morgue."

That seemed to stop Casey. He nodded seriously and said to Malena, "No half measures. I'm impressed, Malena."

"And you took the news in stride. I'm impressed too, Casey."

"I respect competence."

Chuck said, "Casey, Malena wants to talk a little business with you. Let's go back to my place and do that inside. It's my turn to make breakfast."

"Lead the way," said Casey.

Once in Chuck's apartment, and seated at the dining table, Casey said, "Business?"

Chuck said, "Casey, I might have sort of...well, mentioned...sort of in passing...that you have some experience with stolen goods...I mean...you know, sometimes."

"Chuck..." said Casey with a warning in his tone and anger on his face.

"In this case, Casey, it may have been a good thing," said Malena. Chuck had put full coffee mugs in front of each of them and put milk and sugar out on the table. In the kitchen he began to make a second pot of coffee. Once it was started, he took out the ingredients needed to make a spinach and mushroom frittata.

"I don't know if you can help me, but even if you can't you may have friends who can," said Malena.

"I do. What do you need? Even if I don't have people directly, my friends have friends," said Casey.

"We need connections at the Port of Los Angeles. We have some merchandise to move out and onto a freighter docking late this afternoon. Our merchandise cannot be subject to inspection or delay," said Malena. Casey thought Chuck had been absolutely right in his description. She carried herself like a successful, intelligent business woman. Formidable.

Chuckling, Casey said, "Well, you are in luck. I have somebody at the Port. The thing is, I've only used her to move things in to the Port. Moving things out will be new for me, but, in theory, should be easier. Only thing is, I won't get involved in human trafficking. That business sucks and I want nothing to do with it. If that's your thing, I'm not the guy to help out." Casey knew that La Ciudad was an arms dealer, so there was very little risk in his taking this position. He didn't want to seem too amenable to whatever she had in mind. She would expect some caution. Inside, he was very curious. What would La Ciudad be moving out of the Port of Los Angeles?

Yuri made a face and Malena said, "No, Casey, I don't touch that shit either. Ugly business. It's weapons. A week or so ago, I had some of my men rob a National Guard armory in Salt Lake City. Are you familiar with MANPADS?"

"Of course. Man Portable Air Defense Systems. Shoulder fired anti-aircraft missiles. We gave hundreds to the Muj while they were fighting the Soviets."

"Right. My men stole fifteen of the newest FIM-92 Stingers from Salt Lake City. They are on their way to Los Angeles by truck and should arrive this afternoon. I need them transferred to a ship tonight."

Holy shit, thought Casey. If the bad guys in Afghanistan or Iraq got ahold of these, they could make life very bad for American fliers. Not to mention that Al Queda could use them to target passenger planes. This was a total disaster. These missiles had to be retrieved.

Chuck remembered Sarah mentioning that robbery the other morning at breakfast. From the kitchen, he called out, "Spinach and mushroom frittata. That ok for everybody? Everybody eat mushrooms?"

"Sounds delicious, Chuck," said Malena, smiling sweetly. "I didn't know you could cook too."

"I'm just learning, but I'm pretty good with eggs. So long as it's not too complicated."

Yuri said, "Here, let me help you. I can help chop the vegetables. I'm good with a knife." Yuri brought his coffee with him to the kitchen and began to work with Chuck to make breakfast. He was still wearing the watch Chuck had given him the prior night.

"Don't know why that wouldn't be possible, Malena. But I have one really important question," said Casey.

"One hundred thousand dollars," said Malena.

"Two hundred," said Casey.

"One fifty," said Malena.

"Done," said Casey, shaking hands with Malena. "Hey Chuck, you just made fifty grand."

"I...I ..I did? I mean ..great...thanks," said Chuck. He brought toast and orange juice to the table.

"Where's the ship now?" asked Casey.

"A few hours north of Catalina Island. They are timing their arrival for dusk. That way the Port authorities won't pay too much attention to them until morning."

Chuck brought out a cast iron skillet with a frittata and put it on a trivet in the center of the table. Cutting the food into four slices, he distributed them onto plates. Yuri took his seat and took a sip of his coffee.

Malena said, "Chuck, this is delicious. Great job."

Casey said, "Not bad, kid. Did you get that hot sauce I asked you to pick up?"

"Uhh, sorry, Casey, I forgot,"

"S'ok. I'll be right back..do either of you like hot sauce?" Her mouth full of egg, Malena nodded 'yes' and Yuri waggled his hand to say 'so-so.' "Well, then, this one is for you, Malena. It's pretty strong. Hang on." Casey left the apartment and was back in a minute or so with a bottle in his hand. He gave Chuck a tiny nod. While he was gone, he had spoken to Sarah and filled her in.

"Malena, try this, but not too much."

Yuri said, "I'll try some, too, Casey." Malena loved it and Yuri, to the gentle amusement of the others, struggled with the intense heat. Grumbling that the hot sauce overwhelmed the subtle spices that he had used on the frittata, Chuck got up to get Yuri some water. When the meal was over, Chuck and Yuri cleared the table and put the dishes into the dishwasher.

"Ok," said Casey. "If this has to work tonight, I want to call my contact at the Port right away. She's not going to have a lot of time."

"Please, do it in front of us, Casey. On speaker phone," said Malena.

"Trust issues?" he laughed. "Sure. I don't blame you."

He took out his phone, put it on speaker and dialed a number. Sarah picked up and said, "Hello."

"Hello, Sarah. This is Casey Bartowski. You have a burner available?"

"Of course," she said.

"Call me back on this number." He disconnected the call.

It only took a moment for her to call. "Ok, Sarah. I've got you on speaker because I'm here with some friends of mine, Malena and Yuri. We have a little business proposition for you."

"Casey, I don't like dealing with strangers. You know that. Why are you doing this?"

"Sarah, these friends saved my brother's life last night. You remember my brother, right? They are good people..." he chuckled, "well...maybe not good people, but our kind of people. I vouch for them. Here's what we need. You get fifty grand to move a truck load of stuff through the Port tonight without inspections and up to a ship."

"Out of the Port? Not in? This is new for you, Casey. But, fifty grand? That's decent. ...Ok. I can do that. What are the details?"

Malena spoke, "The ship is the Mumara. It will approach the Port late afternoon and, hopefully, dock around dusk. The authorities from the Port will handle most of the paperwork in the morning, if the normal procedures apply. The truck can be outside the gates of the Port any time after 5pm today. We want to get the truck's contents on board the Mumara sometime before first light. A lot of the details will be dependent on what the Port authorities do."

"Is the Mumara a container ship or an old freighter?"

"Freighter."

A light laugh came through the phone, "Ok. The authorities will not be an issue, Marlena..."

"Malena...no "r"."

"Oh, sorry,... Malena. Not an issue. I'm the assistant to one of the Port managers. I can put the ship in a nice quiet spot. Some place out of the way so no one will notice a late night transfer. Once I pick a spot for the ship, I'll let you know where to have the truck meet me."

"Meet you?" asked Malena.

"Of course. The best way to get it through without inspection is for me to be on the truck. I'm going to have to get a few people to cooperate to wave us through. Nothing major, but this doesn't happen otherwise. No confusion with my friends if I'm on the truck. Nobody picks the wrong truck. And if, God forbid, something goes wrong, you will sure as shit want me on that truck."

"Ok," said Malena. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, pay me. Casey, you have this number the rest of the day?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Ok. I'll call you later. Bye."

"Bye."

"Good," said Malena. "Now we wait."

Chuck and Casey called in sick to the Buy More and they all settled down to wait for Sarah to call with the details of tonight. Yuri and Chuck sat down on the couch to play Call of Duty and Malena and Casey sat at the dining table and discussed weapons. While Chuck was not actively listening to the conversation behind him, he did hear Malena refer to Yuri with a chuckle as "Yuri the Gobbler".

"Why do they call you Yuri the Gobbler?" Chuck asked while moving his avatar around a building to avoid an ambush.

"Because I have the reputation of eating the people I kill," said Yuri.

Chuck stopped what he was doing and stared at Yuri.

After a while Yuri noticed that Chuck had stopped and turned his head to look at him. He said, "Well, of course I don't actually eat people. That would be gross. I let the reputation stand because it makes me sound scarier."

"Dude," said Chuck, "You are over six and a half feet tall, weight something like 400 pounds, and could break me in half with just a fierce look. You are plenty freakin' scary without a reputation as a cannibal."

Yuri looked at Chuck seriously for several moments and said, "Thank you, Chuck."

Chuck and Yuri went out on a beer run and Casey ordered in pizza for lunch.

Soon after they had eaten the pizza, Sarah called. The Mumara  had been assigned a berth along the main channel across from the San Pedro Fish Market. She indicated that she wanted a more secluded spot, but container ships were so prevalent that there weren't tons of berths available to choose among for freighters. She also selected a spot to meet the truck in Long Beach. It was agreed that Sarah would meet the truck alone and the four of them would meet her at the dock itself. She thought it was less conspicuous for the truck to go through the checks alone rather than being followed by a car.

Soon after the business was concluded and before Chuck and Yuri had sat back on the couch to continue Call of Duty, Malena took Chuck by the hand and walked him back into his bedroom. Closing the door, and without a word being spoken, she took him in her arms and kissed him with smoldering hunger, pressing her whole body against his. Almost immediately, she realized he wasn't reciprocating much at all.

"What's the matter, Chuck?"

"I'm sorry...I'm nervous..."

"But I thought this is why you went to the party last night. This is exactly what you had in mind...were hoping for...I'm ready, Chuck. I have been all day." She laid a light hand on his arm. "There's nothing to be nervous about...just relax and do what comes naturally."

"Malena, I really, really want to...when I said nervous I didn't mean you..."

"Oh, the guys, the guys on the other side of the door. No worries, I'll send them out for a walk...or send them to Casey's or something."

"No, that's not it either. It's tonight. Transferring the missiles to the ship...I'm a little freaked out about it. I've never done anything this ...important...that's always been Casey's thing...and I'm excited about it, but nervous about it too...really nervous...and..with you...here...I'm afraid I'll be too distracted to ….well...to do a good job...and I really, really want to do a good job..I really like you and ...I'm nervous...I think I will be until after the transfer...can I...can we...get a raincheck until tonight?...until after we do the thing with the missiles?"

"Oh, that's sweet, Chuck," she said.

"You're not mad?"

"No. Disappointed, but not mad. I tell you what though, and you can count on this, when we get finished at the dock tonight, that won't be the last missile I handle today." He laughed nervously. She smiled and gave him a lingering kiss.

Holding his hand, they walked out of his room together. Neither noticed Casey hold out his hand, palm up, to Yuri nor Yuri slap two twenties down with a sour expression.

They spent the afternoon much like the morning, except Malena spoke to both the ship and her men on the truck and relayed Sarah's information and instructions.

It was late afternoon when they left Echo Park and drove to Long Beach. Traffic was, as usual, atrocious and they didn't arrive until early evening. Finding a quiet bar and grill near Point Fermin Park, they settled down to wait. Casey drank beer, Chuck drank ginger ale, Malena had wine and Yuri drank vodka like it was water (and showed absolutely no effects). They took their time over burgers and lingered afterwards.

Malena looked at her watch. It was time to go to the dock.

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A/N2: Matthew Willig, the actor who played Yuri, played American football in the National Football League for 14 seasons. So, Devon was on the right track.

A/N3: Casey can thank Marc Vun Kannon for the $40. The bet was Marc's idea.

A/N4: I have a serious question for you guys. I have only a couple more chapters in this arc, and the last chapter will be a short one. I need guidance as to where to go from here. I was having a conversation about this with Zettel the other day. Without much advance planning by me (ok, no planning at all), this is turning into a serial type project. Each arc has a beginning, a middle and an end, but the whole story just goes on and on. Do you readers prefer that, or would you prefer that I break it up going forward into separate stories around each arc (an arc being, for the foreseeable future, roughly an episode or so). I'm a bit torn and could use some advice.

On the one hand, people know where to find this story and are familiar with this particular A/U. Also, the characters are not static and will be changing as the story progresses (particularly Chuck and Sarah), so it will make more sense read in order. Keeping it all together maintains that continuity.

On the other hand, I worry that if this grows too long, it will discourage new readers from trying it. They might not be ready to try a War-and-Peace sized fan fic when they can read a nice little one shot on the train to work. I've been putting a table of contents (of a sort) on my profile, but someone new to the site may not follow along too well.

Anyway, what do you guys think? Keep it all here together, or start breaking it into separate stories? I'd particularly love to hear from you shy folks out there who don't review often. Maybe from some of the new visitors to the site. If reviews aren't your thing, you can go right ahead and PM me. Thanks. You guys are the best.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: The way I figure it, only another 64 years until the copyright expires and nobody owns Chuck. Now I'm bracing myself for those readers here who are also lawyers to set me straight.

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It was early morning and Sarah had just finished briefing her team for the upcoming takedown of La Ciudad when the tech assigned to the team announced that the signal was on the move. Sarah and nine other men and women, all fully geared up with weapons and black tactical equipment piled into a couple of vans to follow the signal. She had to fight down panic when we saw the signal arrive at Echo Park and stop there. She ordered the driver of the van to put the pedal down and get them there sooner than immediately.

She took out her phone. "Casey, La Ciudad is at your location." She sounded a little frantic, even to herself.

"Shit," he said. "Hold on...Ok, I see, crossing the courtyard. Yuri the Gobbler and the woman. Looking at apartment numbers. Approaching Chuck's apartment."

"Engage, Casey. Take them out. Take them out now. We are fifteen minutes away. You can't wait..."

"Hold on, Walker. There are no weapons visible. I'm not getting that vibe. Just hold on."

She bit back her reply. He was on scene and she'd have to trust his judgment, but she wanted to scream. Casey continued, "In the doorway...chatting with Ellie...Here's Chuck...Just talking...Here's Devon." Casey chuckled. "Awesome is admiring Yuri's biceps...Ellie and Awesome leaving for work...ok, Chuck's taking them inside...wait...yeah, inside. Doesn't seem like a threat to Chuck."

"Casey, you don't know what they are doing in there."

"I don't, but I want to find out. And if I bust down the door, I won't..."

"We are ten minutes out...when I get there..."

"Wait a second...," said Casey. "They are leaving his apartment...all three of them...damn, they are coming here...to me. I'll call you when I can...in the meantime, don't interfere unless we signal for help or you know the score...out." He hung up.

Her insides clenched. Her team was in danger. Chuck was in danger. She had to do something other than merely wait, but she had to just wait.

Arriving at Echo Park, Sarah deployed her team. Any direction La Ciudad and the Gobbler took to leave the complex, they would run into a collection of armed agents. They had identified La Ciudad's car, a black SUV, and installed a tracker on it. She had a sniper team on overwatch reporting on everything they could see through the windows of Chuck's apartment. At the moment, that appeared to be breakfast. She knew she was being irrational, but some part of her couldn't help but think that that bitch was eating Sarah's breakfast.

"Major Casey on the move," reported the sniper team. "He's signaling for us to hold. He's heading to his apartment.

Her phone rang. Casey. "Walker," she answered.

Speaking very fast, he said, "No time. She thinks I'm Chuck's brother, a criminal who can help her move the stolen Stingers from Salt Lake through Los Angeles Port to a ship tonight. You will be my Port contact who can arrange it. I told her we haven't moved out of the Port, only in, but out should be easier for us. Stay tuned. Casey out." He disconnected the call.

"He's on his way back to the other apartment," said the sniper.

Oh, shit. La Ciudad had the stolen Stingers...from the Armory in Salt Lake. They couldn't take her now. Not until they had the Stingers...and the buyers for the Stingers, if possible. Ok, Casey was right to wait. Even if they took La Ciudad now, the Stingers would be loose and dangerous. They had to play along until they could wrap up all the bad guys at the same time.

"Ok, guys," Sarah said into the team's communication link. "New game. La Ciudad has the stolen Stingers from Salt Lake coming in to LA tonight. She intends to move them to a ship at the Port. We are going to help her get them there and then take the Stingers and all the players. Casey and Carmichael are undercover with her and her man."

She punched a few buttons on her phone and was on with Graham. "Graham, secure." Graham had gotten her report on the events of last night and expected to hear that La Ciudad was in custody.

"Walker, secure. La Ciudad has the Stingers from Salt Lake. She is moving them to a ship in the Port of Los Angeles tonight. Don't know the buyers yet. Casey and Chuck are undercover with her and will be assisting in arranging for the transfer. They have set it up so that I am their contact in the Port. I will need complete cooperation from the Port authorities."

"Done. Get those Stingers back and capture La Ciudad. How long will it take you to get to the Port?"

"At this hour? It's all the way down in Long Beach. An hour? Maybe two." She had just made the same drive last night chasing Harris's bullshit.

"Ok, the folks at the Port will be alerted by the time you get there. Coast Guard too. You will have a cutter at your disposal."

"Thanks. Walker out."

Back on her team's communication net, she said, "I'm heading to the Port. Fitz, you're with me. Billy, you are in command in my absence."

"Roger that, Agent Walker," said Billy.

"On my way," said Fitz. Within moments the towering red-headed agent was beside her. "Want me to drive?"

"Yeah, I may be on the phone," Sarah said.

They took one of the vans (there was no other choice) and headed south to Long Beach. They were fifteen minutes out from Echo Park when her phone rang. She disconnected the call after a moment and asked Fitz for his phone. Calling Casey back on Fitz's phone, in case La Ciudad had noted the prior number, she and Casey carried out the charade of her recruitment for that night's work. She smiled a tiny smile when she called La Ciudad by the wrong name, even while she knew she was being petty. She was really looking forward to arresting the dark-haired woman.

When they arrived at the Port, she and Fitz were shown into the office of the Executive Director. He had with him a burly white-haired man in a police uniform, who was introduced as the Chief of the Port Police and a woman in a business suit, who was introduced as the General Counsel of the Port. Also present, was Coast Guard Commander Rachel Garrett, a brunette in her late thirties, the Captain of the Coast Guard cutter Grant. When they had a moment alone, Sarah congratulated her on the capture of the North Korean spies from the off-shore ship a few weeks before. Garrett seemed excited to be working with Sarah's team again, as the last effort had proven so successful.

The six of them spent the next few hours studying a map of the Port and debating the best berth for the Mumara and the best time of day to arrange for the transfer. The choice of berths was more limited than it might otherwise seem, as the Port was built to accommodate container ships. Berths for simple freighters were fewer. They decided not to draw attention to this particular ship by moving another ship to a different berth. Of equal importance to a quiet spot, was a spot with few land exits, as Sarah and her team wanted to be able to bottle La Ciudad and her party up with limited escape routes. They also wanted a spot where the Grant could easily intervene if necessary.

After several hours of discussion, it was decided to have the Mumara dock on a triangular spit of land on the Main Channel on Terminal Island before the eastward jog of the Channel by the Battleship Iowa Museum. The Main Channel would be quiet in the evening. There was only one road off that portion of land, easily blocked by Sarah's team. The Grant could loiter on the far side of the small rectangular section of Terminal Island on which the Coast Guard Headquarters for Los Angeles itself was located. It would be hidden from the Mumara, but in a perfect position to intervene with the take down of La Ciudad's men. The only negative about the spot is that San Pedro Fish Market was right on the other side of the Channel, and would be filled with people. Sarah thought, though, that if they put it off until too late in the evening, when the Market would be empty, the truck would seem too conspicuous.

Now that the berth had been selected and a rough time for the transfer agreed upon, Sarah took out a map of Long Beach and selected a spot to meet La Ciudad's truck with the Stingers. She decided upon the parking lot of the St. Peter Catholic Church on West Ofarrell Street. It would be quiet in the early evening (she had someone check to make sure there wouldn't be a wedding or something there that night) and had easy access to 47, which would take them right into the Port.

Once the arrangements had been made, Sarah called Casey and told him where the Mumara would berth and where and when to have the truck meet her. Commander Garrett headed back to the Grant to make her preparations. Sarah ate something, borrowed a pair of jeans from the woman lawyer, and was given a tee shirt, wind breaker and baseball cap all with the Port insignia. Since she had time, she drove a borrowed Port vehicle to the Church's parking lot and back to the berth where the Mumara would dock. She did the drive twice to make sure she had memorized the route.

Sarah heard from those of her team in Echo Park that Casey, Chuck, Yuri and La Ciudad were on the move and heading towards Long Beach. Billy had arranged for the team to obtain several cars as they had no intention of trying to follow their target in a huge black tactical van. While they were doing so, the Mumara docked in its assigned berth. It took Chuck, Casey and the others well over an hour to arrive and find a place to wait for the rendezvous with Sarah and the Mumara. Two members of Sarah's team were in the bar and grill covering Chuck and Casey, but there was no drama at all to be observed there.

Eventually, it was time. The Director and lawyer wished her luck. The Chief of the Port Police would be along with her team and a handful of his own men for the take down. She parked in the Church's lot and waited.

The truck arrived on time. It was a 12 foot long Penske rental truck with Minnesota plates, its bright yellow body seemed incongruous to Sarah in concealing fifteen stolen missiles. There were two men in the cab, a burly bald-headed man and a skinny guy with a tattoo of tears on his face. The skinny guy moved over and Sarah climbed into the cab. She was glad the evening was warm enough to keep the window of the truck open, as neither man smelled too clean.

Sarah didn't volunteer a name and neither man seemed inclined to ask. "Make a left," was all the greeting she gave them. "Ok, now a right onto North Gaffey and follow the signs for 47 East."

They rode in silence for a while until the skinny guy, who had been checking her out, said, "Hey, when this delivery is made, you want to get a drink? Maybe you can show us a good bar around here. We been on the road for a few days and need to unwind a little."

"No," she replied, looking out the window. He didn't ask again.

Sarah wasn't nervous about being with these two scumbags. She was nervous, though, about the whole operation. She believed she had thought of every contingency and made her plans accordingly, but there were three separate groups of bad guys to consider – La Ciudad, these guys in the truck, and finally the men on the ship. Too many variables for comfort. To her surprise, she found herself wishing Chuck and Casey were with her to talk over the plans. She had worked solo for much of her career, but now missed the judgment and input of the rest of her team.

They crossed the Vincent Thomas Bridge and Sarah said, "Here, take this exit." At the foot of the exit ramp was a large gate, manned by Port Police. As they pulled up Sarah said, "That one," pointing to one of the turnstile lanes. Once at the turnstile she said, "Wait here." She got out and pretended to deal with the uniformed officer at the gate. In fact, she had met and spoken to the man two hours earlier. She got back into the cab of the truck and said, "Go through. Now, make a left, here." They turned onto Ferry Street. "Ok, she said, "Right here. Terminal Way." Stacks of multi-colored containers filled the lot to the left.

She glanced at her watch. Fitz spoke in her ear, "La Cuidad and party just arrived at the dock." He would be tracking her from her watch and would know that she was mere minutes away. Terminal Way changed its name to South Seaside Avenue and turned left to head south. Shortly after the turn, Sarah said, "Here, turn right on Wharf Street. Now follow it to the end." They drove down the increasingly narrow strip of land. Water was to their left and huge natural gas container tanks were to their right. In a couple of minutes they arrived at the point of the triangle

The Mumara was docked on their right with its lights on. When the truck engine was switched off, Sarah heard the low rumble of the ship's engines. What the hell? That probably wasn't normal. There was nothing for Sarah to do about it though, not at the moment. La Ciudad's black SUV was parked there, with Chuck, Casey, La Ciudad and Yuri the Gobbler standing beside it. Sarah noted that Chuck's description of the woman was not accurate. He had described her as pretty, while in fact she was very beautiful.

Sarah stepped out of the truck cab and began to walk towards the little group by the SUV just as La Ciudad and Yuri were walking towards the truck. Both women passed each other with a nod. Then stopped with their backs to each other three or four feet apart as an almost physical sensation of challenge passed through them. Sarah could never remember a feeling like this, a sudden bone deep certainty that there would be a contest between them, and soon. She shook herself and continued to Chuck and Casey.

Maintaining their cover, in case any of the others could hear, Casey said, "Evening, Sarah. You remember my brother, Chuck."

"Hi," said Sarah, shaking his hand.

"Hi," said Chuck.

None of them noticed La Ciudad closely watching the exchange of greetings.

A man came down the gangway from the ship and approached La Ciudad. They began to converse in Arabic. She went to the back of the truck and opened the doors, showing him the contents. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he made a gesture to the deck of the ship and dozens of Arab-looking men, all with AK-47's slung on their backs, swarmed down the gangway towards the truck.

OH, SHIT, thought Sarah. This wasn't good. Fitz had waited too long. Now they were seriously outnumbered, even with the Port police to help. Her plans had factored in a number of contingencies, but not an army deployed from the ship.

Fitz must have agreed, because that's when it all hit the fan. Every available light suddenly illuminated the scene and heavily armed agents began to swarm out of the building behind them, spreading into a semi circle as they advanced with their weapons raised. Fitz's amplified voice boomed, "FEDERAL AGENTS. LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS. FEDERAL AGENTS."

The men from the ship, both moving to the dock and on the deck of the ship itself, unslung their weapons and began to fire at anyone and everyone on the dock. Sarah tackled Chuck and bore him to the ground, covering him with her body while drawing her weapon. The skinny guy from the truck, who had visions of having drinks with Sarah, died on his feet as he was almost cut in half by a burst from an automatic rifle firing from the deck of the ship. His partner prudently hit the ground and rolled under the truck.

Yuri was covering La Ciudad with his body and firing at the men from the ship, apparently deeming those trigger-happy fools the greater threat. Sarah and Casey were also firing their weapons, but the volume of return fire was so intense that it would have been suicide to stick your head up for a moment to aim properly. A dozen shooters lined the railing of the Mumara, their positions sparkling with the flash of their weapons.

Even amidst the firestorm, men from the ship began to pull the Stingers in their transport cases from the truck and up the gangway. There was a deep boom of a sniper rifle firing, and one of the men dragging a Stinger pitched forward and lay still. Another man, jumped into his place and began to drag the box. Boom. He died. Another man jumped in, firing his rifle one-handed. And so it went. They managed to get six or seven missiles onto the ship, but left a trail of dead bodies in their wake, both on the dock and floating next to it.

When it seemed that there were no more martyrs on the dock trying for the missiles, the ropes holding the Mumara to the dock went slack and fell into the black water of the harbor. The ship left the dock and moved into the Main Channel beginning to gather speed.

OH SHIT, thought Sarah.

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Commander Rachel Garrett stood in the Combat Information Center of the Grant and listened as Fitz reported the Mumara on the move. "Helm. All ahead full. Block that ship from leaving the harbor." There were no windows in the CIC, and her view was all video screens and computer monitors and subdued lighting. It was designed to allow the Captain to fight the ship from one location.

"All ahead full, aye, Ma'am," responded the helm. The engines, already warm, roared and the ship surged forward. They would come around the southernmost point of Terminal Island and block the Channel out to sea.

"Hail the Mumara," she said.

"No response, Captain."

"Keep trying."

The Mumara was making surprising speed down the Channel. As the Grant came slightly to starboard to cut it off, they realized they were too late to block. Garrett ordered, "Run parallel through the channel. We'll engage once clear of the harbor."

The Mumara was swinging slightly to port in order to stay in the Channel and make it through the gap in the jetties which protected the harbor. It pushed farther to port than necessary, threatening to either ram the Grant from its port side or to push it into the side of the southernmost island of the harbor. Small arms AK-47 fire from the deck of the Mumara peppered the side of the Grant with few results. Concerned with civilian casualties, Garrett ordered the Grant to fall back, so as not to get in a gunfight with the enemy while in the harbor itself.

Neither ship was paying the least bit of attention to the speed limits inside the harbor, designed to eliminate wakes for the safety of the docked ships. In fact, both ships were travelling fast with a high angry vee of white water framing each of their bows. The Grant had a siren blaring at high volume to warn away all other ships in the vicinity.

Garrett ordered, "Get me Admiral Kinsler."

The Mumara passed the Los Angeles Harbor Lighthouse to starboard and, moments later, so did the Grant. They were now in the open sea. Garrett had finished her discussion with the Admiral.

"Weapons, fire the cannon across her bow."

"Aye, Captain. Firing across the bow." The weapons officer pulled up a screen on her computer and moved the mouse. On the deck, the single barrel of the OTO Melara 76mm cannon swiveled to starboard and pointed across the bow of the Mumara. With a tap of her mouse, the weapon roared and a shell flew across the distance between the ships, to impact in the water on the far side of the enemy ship with a boom and a tall splash.

"Any response to our hails?"

"No, Captain. Silence."

"Very well. What's our depth?"

"We make four hundred feet, Captain." Her First Officer looked at her with a question in his eyes. She said, "I don't want to block the Channel." His eyes widened at the implications of her statement.

A plume of smoke left the Mumara and headed towards the Grant. It seems that someone on board had gotten a Stinger missile working and was trying to use it as an anti-ship missile. Of course, a warhead designed to damage a lightweight, fragile aircraft would have an entirely different effect on the steel hull of a heavy ship. As expected, it impacted on the side of the Grant with a loud bang and a flash of fire and nothing else.

"Damage?" asked Garrett.

"Bullshit, Cap. Pretty much bounced off," said the bosun from on deck.

"Ok. Weapons?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Garrett pointed to the Mumara on the video screen in front of her and said, "Sink that motherfucker."

With a grin the Weapons officer responded. "Sink that motherfucker, aye, Ma'am."

The screen in front of her held a steady image of the enemy ship. She focused the crosshairs of the OTO Melara cannon on the bow of the other ship, just at the water line. Boom, the cannon fired a 28 pound armor piercing shell. The high explosive round impacted on the Mumara's bow, entered the ship and blew a hole in the hull the size of a large barrel. She refocused the crosshairs slightly lower and fired again. The second hole in the bow joined the first one and, combined, they were now the size of a large door, a door with sea water surging through it.

The volume of small arms fire from the Mumara increased, but the Grant was out of range of the assault rifles and the rounds fell harmlessly into the water between the two ships.

Nobody had told the Mumara's engine room to slow, so the ship continued to plow on at full power, but with a large hole in the bow, seawater was pouring into the innards of the ship and its forward movement was just making it worse. The bow was noticeably lower in the water, but the ship still moved straight ahead to its death.

Garrett ordered, "Ceasefire."

"Ceasefire, aye, Ma'am."

They watched as the Mumara's bow dipped lower and lower into the water, the hole they had created no longer visible. The ship was wallowing now, the engines incapable of carrying her forward no matter how hard they tried.

Garrett ordered, "Prepare to get rescue boats into the water, but I want them armed. These are some real dead enders out there. They may not welcome salvation."

"Rescue boats, aye, Captain."

While they watched, the Mumara rolled over on its starboard side and disappeared beneath the waves.

No one cheered.

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Heavily armed and black-clad Federal agents rounded up the survivors of the shoot out on the dock. The wounded would have to wait until all the armed combatants had been rendered harmless.

As agents approached Casey, Sarah and Chuck the first two put their pistols on the ground, knelt with their hands interlocked behind their heads and waited. After watching them for a moment or two, Chuck mimicked their actions. Sarah's orders were clear that, so long as they were around Yuri and La Ciudad, their covers were to be maintained and they would be arrested with the others. The agents collected La Ciudad and Yuri and the driver from under the truck.

As Fitz was corralling the prisoners, La Ciudad said to Sarah, "You betrayed me, you bitch. You will die for that."

Fitz started to laugh. He said, "I don't know who you think betrayed you, honey, but the truth is, I don't even know who you people are. We were following the truck." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the truck with its now partial load of Stingers. "But, if you guys want to fight among yourselves, go right ahead. I'll buy popcorn and watch."

He called out, "Bring the two detention vans." Each of the prisoners was handcuffed with their hands behind them. Sarah knew that she, Casey and now Chuck all had handcuff keys taped to the back of their belts, but now was not the time nor the place for that particular bit of preparation to be on display. The detention vans arrived. Fitz commanded, "Put the ladies in one and the men in the other."

Just as Sarah was being helped into the van, Fitz announced, loudly, "Grant just sunk the Mumara. They are looking for survivors." Sarah was delighted. Those loose missiles had been weighing on her mind. 'Way to go, Garrett,' she thought.

She settled back onto the bench of the van and closed her eyes. The doors to the van closed and she heard the thunk of a lock.

La Ciudad spoke, "So, Sarah, right?" Sarah grunted. "Looks like you have the hots for Casey's brother, Chuck. Well, honey, you can forget that one."

Sarah opened her eyes and looked at the other woman. She thought, 'what in God's name...?'

"Don't try to deny it. I saw the way you look at him. And when the shooting started you jumped him to protect him. Anyone could have seen it. But you can forget it...I was just doing him this afternoon. And sweetie, let me tell you, he is great in the sack...oh, man, he really knows how to use it..."

La Ciudad continued to talk about her sexual escapades that afternoon with Chuck and Sarah knew she was doing it just to get a rise out of her. Sarah closed her eyes again and only listened with half an ear.

If this had been Bryce, Sarah would have believed every word...there she was again, comparing Chuck to Bryce. It would have been perfectly normal for him to bed a mark...and bedding the infamous La Ciudad...no question at all, even if she hadn't been as beautiful as she was. And it wouldn't have bothered Sarah any more than smiling at a mark or buying a drink for a mark. It would have just been business and nothing personal at all. Just a purely physical series of actions with no feelings behind it.

But, why hadn't that bothered her then? Why the difference between the two men? She knew she wasn't good with relationships and felt, somehow, that her problem with relationships was the answer to the puzzle. So maybe it wasn't a difference between the men, maybe it was a difference between the relationships. Maybe her relationship with Chuck was such that exclusivity was expected, whereas it hadn't been with Bryce. But why not? She didn't have a good answer yet, but felt she was on the right track. She knew for sure that if Chuck had had sex with this woman this afternoon, she would feel a terrible ache in her heart and that that wouldn't have been the case during her relationship with Bryce.

...wait a minute...did La Ciudad just say on top of a running clothes dryer...interesting...Sarah'd have to think about that...

But she didn't feel that ache in her heart. Not at all. Because she knew, without an iota of uncertainty, that it was bullshit and Chuck had never slept with her. No way. He wouldn't do that. It was as inconceivable as the sun refusing to come up in the morning. She felt silly for losing her temper over the tango lessons the prior night. Chuck would not cheat on her. Sex was now intertwined with feelings and she didn't think it would ever again separate. As the thought coalesced in her mind, she wanted to smile to herself (but couldn't, given her company). And she knew, in that moment, that she would never cheat on him either. Ever. Seduction missions for Agent Sarah Walker were over. That was that. Wow, what a wild and liberating thought. She was almost giddy when she considered it.

La Ciudad continued to talk about sex with Chuck, apparently thinking that Sarah's silence was an indication of suffering. It was getting annoying.

Sarah spoke for the first time since entering the van and said, "Turtlenecks."

"What?" asked La Ciudad.

"Turtlenecks," said Sarah again.

"What are you talking about?"

"Turtlenecks...you should really think about them. You know, to cover that hideous scar. I mean, it's really ugly as shit...what happen to you? Trip and fall while drunk one..."

Sarah didn't finish the thought because the side of the other woman's foot caught her in the jaw with a roundhouse kick, knocking her to the deck of the moving van. Spitting a little blood from her mouth, Sarah smiled. It's on, she thought.

The other woman was standing over her, saying, "Shut your stupid mouth you …"

Sarah's right foot caught her in her knee and with a shout of pain, La Ciudad went down. Sarah raised her heel and brought it down hard, but La Ciudad had moved her head out of the way and Sarah just banged the steel.

La Ciudad did a back roll and came to her feet just as Sarah completed a shoulder spring. Sarah rushed at La Ciudad and headbutted the other woman. As she staggered back, Sarah jumped as high as the low ceiling of the van would permit, piked her knees up to her chin and pulled her cuffed hands under her butt and heels to her front. Sarah's booted feet impacted on the deck once more.

If La Ciudad was impressed by the borderline acrobatic move, she gave no indication of it. She launched a side kick at Sarah's middle that would have broken a rib, if Sarah had not twisted and only taken a glancing blow to her side. Using her cuffed hands as hammers, Sarah struck at the side of the other woman's head, but a raised shoulder partially blocked the blow. The van turned a corner and both women lost their balance and fell to the ground. On her back La Ciudad took that opportunity to pull her legs up to her chest and pull her cuffed hands to her front as well.

Sarah leaped to her feet, but La Ciudad grabbed at one of her ankles and pulled her off balance. As she fell, Sarah kicked La Ciudad in the face with her free foot giving the other woman a bloody nose. Sarah was rewarded by a double fist strike to the side of her head that made her see stars.

Both women clambered to their feet once again, both somewhat worse for the fight. They squared off and faced each other for long moments, each assessing and looking for weaknesses in the other. Eyes narrowed, they appraised their opponent.

Finally, Sarah shrugged and seemed to lose interest in the fight. She said, "Aw, the hell with it." She turned her back on La Ciudad and leaned forward as she moved to sit back down on the bench. As expected, La Ciudad leaped forward, hands raised, to attack Sarah's defenseless back. That's when Sarah threw a powerful back kick that caught the other woman square in the middle, lifted her off the deck of the van and crashed her into the van's locked door. Her head impacted with a resounding _bong_. La Ciudad lay crumpled on the floor of the van, unmoving.

Sometime later the van's doors were opened by Fitz, who found an unconscious La Ciudad and Sarah sitting on a bench, blood dripping from a cut on her face, wearing a contented smile.

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A/N2: It's not a mistake. Garrett is a Commander in rank, but holds the position as Captain of the Grant. She is referred to as such while in command, notwithstanding that her title is not the same as her rank. This is a perfectly normal maritime tradition.

A/N3: I want to thank the readers for their input. You have spoken, and, while it wasn't unanimous, the clear consensus seems to be that I ought to keep the arcs tied into this one story. So, I will. At least for the time being. Thanks, guys.

A/N4: Only one (relatively short) cleanup chapter left in the story of La Ciudad. Then we have to retrieve a diamond from a certain Mr. Alahi.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Here's the last chapter in the La Ciudad arc. Hope you guys like it.

Don't own Chuck, but I feel you knew that already.

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The next day

Sarah knocked on Casey's door.

"Hi," she said when he opened it.

"Hey," he said. "What's up? You get any sleep?"

"Yeah. Ten hours. Feeling great, thanks. Morgan is over playing video games with Chuck. I told them I wanted to talk to you for a bit." She held up a flash drive. "Got this from the cleaners. Harris was taping the interrogation of Chuck. Want to watch it with me?"

"You've seen it already?"

"Nope. This will be the first time."

"Sure." He began to set up his TV to receive the signal from his computer. "What do you hear from Beckman and Graham?"

"Delighted. We got La Ciudad, a ship full of Al Queda, and the stolen Stingers. Congratulations all around. From the way they talked, it seems like we are their new favorite flavor."

"The missiles?" asked Casey.

"The Navy is sending an ROV down to get the ones from the Mumara. Too deep for a diver."

The TV set up, Casey inserted the flash drive and hit play. As they sat on his couch he said, "And the other thing?"

"They love the idea. If he'll play, full speed ahead."

Before he could reply, the video started. They saw Chuck manhandled into a chair, zip tied down, and the hood pulled off his head. Sarah winced as he was punched. Casey merely nodded. When Chuck asked for the garbage can so he wouldn't have to spit on the carpet, Casey laughed out loud. When Chuck was telling Harris and Renny that he was hitting on Malena and was hoping to get laid, Casey glanced at Sarah. To his surprise, she looked ok. When Harris took out the gun and threatened to kneecap Chuck, Casey growled "damn" and Sarah, a little glassy eyed, gasped and put her fingers to her mouth. The way he pulled that out and used the picture in the paper and the difference in frames stunned them both. They saw Malena's men kill Harris and Renny and Chuck turn on a dime to talk her out of killing him. She kissed him, whispered something in his ear and left the room. Chuck talked Yuri into taking his watch. Then Yuri left.

They continued to watch as Chuck, now alone in the room, approached Harris's body and kneeled down. He slowly reached out and seemed to close the dead man's eyes with his fingertips. Then, still kneeling next to the body, he silently laid a light hand on the dead man's chest for about ten seconds. A prayer? A moment of silence? An expression of forgiveness? Or a simple human gesture? He rose and did the same with Renny. Then he moved out of the camera frame for a few moments and came back with sheets he'd stripped off the beds in the hotel suite. He used the sheets to cover each of the three bodies. Going into the bathroom for a little while, he came out with his face less bloody and carried a towel to the bar area of the suite. He filled the towel with ice from the ice bucket and left the room.

Casey got up and wordlessly restarted the video. They watched it a second time all the way through, silently this time. After the second viewing, Sarah and Casey continued to sit in silence for almost two minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Casey said, "In training, what do they teach us about handling an interrogation? About being on the receiving end?"

Sarah let out a breath and said, "Don't antagonize your interrogators. Look like you are trying to cooperate. Pick a plausible story as close to the truth as you can and stick with it. If you have to change your story, change as little as possible and keep it as consistent with the initial story as you can. Casey...he hasn't had a day of training...a minute of training...he just did it ...naturally."

"I know. And he's got balls, too. The kneecapping...shit. Harris might have really done that. If he was so nuts as to send us away, he was nuts enough to have done that," said Casey. He paused and continued, "Sarah, I couldn't have done what Chuck did. I've had all the training. I have experience and I'm really pretty tough. I still couldn't have done that. I'm too angry and just not smart enough."

"Oh, you're plenty smart, Casey."

"Yeah, but not like that. Not as quick as that. He just saw two MI-6 agents murdered in front of him and the first thing he says is to ask if they are the police. That's crazy quick thinking. Could you do that? Could you do what Chuck did?"

She thought about it. It was a serious question and deserved a serious answer. Eventually, she said, "Yes. But I'd be pretty damn proud of myself afterwards. I would have understood that I had delivered a top-notch performance. Particularly the last bit...talking La Ciudad out of killing him. Getting Yuri to back his play. That was...that was...wow."

"Not to bring up a sour topic, but could Bryce?"

Again, she thought about it. "No, Bryce couldn't. He was too arrogant and cocky. He'd have tried to play them too obviously. Bryce couldn't have done what Chuck did. And the business with La Ciudad...he'd have tried...well, a different approach...he'd have tried to get her to sleep with him."

"And he'd have been killed by her for it," said Casey.

"Yeah, he would have...you know she did tell me that she and Chuck had sex yesterday."

"She lied to you. I won forty bucks off Yuri on a bet that she'd be left high and dry."

Sarah laughed. "Forty bucks? Is that all?" Casey smiled. "Thanks for sharing that, Casey. I knew she was lying already, but thanks for telling me anyway. I didn't believe her. I trust him. I knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that."

"You're right. That's not who he is. What he is."

"No, but what he is...wow...this video...I mean...wow. He's a natural. Wait until Beckman and Graham get a load of this. They've been impressed with him from the moment he got that thing in his head...but, Casey, this," she gestured at the TV, "this is a whole different level and has nothing to do with the Intersect. This was all just Chuck. All Chuck."

"I know it. And soon Beckman and Graham will it know too."

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The day after that

Yuri Gobrienko sat in one of the sterile interrogation rooms and waited for another bullshit FBI agent to ask him another set of bullshit questions. He idly rattled the chains connecting him to the table. 'Well, this sucks,' he thought.

The door opened. Instead of one of the bullshit FBI agents, it was Sarah, Casey's contact at the Port. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and a short blue blazer. He hadn't noticed the other night, a lot had been going on, but she was an incredibly beautiful woman. She smiled at him and said, in flawless Russian, "Good morning, Yuri. My name is Sarah Walker. All right if we speak in Russian?"

He stared at her and immediately ran through the logical implications in his mind. Finally, he said, in Russian, "Casey and Chuck?"

"I'm CIA. Casey is NSA. Chuck is...well, he's sort of both and neither."

"Hummm. He's incredible. I wouldn't have suspected him for a moment...I didn't...not until just now."

"I know. He certainly is. He's a special man...and he's my boyfriend," she said with obvious pride and a huge smile. Yuri thought to himself, 'yeah, that's why Casey won the bet. I understand now.'

Sarah continued, "I heard that in the van, when you thought he was being arrested for the first time, you went out of your way to comfort him. You should know that I appreciate that." She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Actually, Yuri. He's the reason I'm here. Under normal circumstances, you'd go to prison or a black site. Both Casey and Chuck had something different in mind for you. Seems...well, it seems they like you."

Yuri chuckled and said, "They're right. I'm a very likeable guy."

She smiled at him and said, "Apparently. Anyway, you ever play Monopoly? The board game? Doesn't matter. I am your "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. How would you like to work for the CIA?"

Yuri thought about it. "If I turn down your offer, I go to prison?"

"Yes. For a time. You should know we have you on video murdering Harris. If that ever got to MI-6, they will have you killed. Just on general principles. Whether you are in prison or not."

"And if I go to work for the CIA you won't show the video to MI-6?"

"Well, that's what I would have done, but Chuck convinced me, and our bosses, otherwise. You see, he didn't think blackmail was the right way to get your cooperation. And he...we ...really want your cooperation. So, the video of you killing Harris has been destroyed. No copies made. A sign of good faith. You are in the clear on that one. MI-6 won't find out from the CIA. Chuck is hoping that you will work for us willingly."

Yuri was smart enough to understand that they wouldn't really destroy the video, but he appreciated the gesture. It set the tone of the relationship in a very positive way.

"What do you want me to do for the CIA?"

"For now? Nothing. With La Ciudad out of commission for the next...I don't know, fifty or sixty years...I presume you head back to Volkoff. We'll call you if we need you. In the meantime, we can set up a bank account for you in a bank of your choosing. You will get $50,000 per month, whether we call you or not." She took a key out of her pocket and laid it on the desk in front of him. "If you say yes, I unlock the chains and you walk out of here with me. No record has been made of your arrest. You tell anyone who cares that you escaped in the mayhem of the shoot out at the dock. There will be no record here to say otherwise. Chuck and Casey are waiting outside and want to buy you a drink. Seems Casey has forty bucks in his pocket he wants to spend on vodka," she said with a smile.

Yuri laughed and said, with his most winning smile (which wasn't really all that winning, truth be told), "If I join the CIA do they assign me a girlfriend as intelligent, beautiful and charming as you?"

Sarah laughed and said, "Well, that's not exactly how this works. But, I can promise to introduce you to some friends of mine."

Yuri didn't have to think about it for too long. He said, "I'm in. I only have one condition." He looked directly at the mirror along one wall, certain of who would be behind it.

"And what might that be?"

"I want Chuck as my handler," he said in English.

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A little over a month later

Julio Borges loved his work, especially on Saturdays. He was the owner, manager and host of the Tierra del Andes restaurant in the Monterey Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. It was renowned for good Argentine food, fine Argentine wines and, on Saturday nights, live music and dancing. He always knew when a couple arrived for the dancing. There were the regulars, of course, but the new guests came with a certain excitement and dressed to the nines.

That was the case with the Carmichael party. A tall, handsome man and a spectacularly beautiful blonde woman. He in a well-fitting tuxedo and the woman in a sexy red dress that drew stares from the men and envious looks from the other women. They dined well and drank a bottle of a fine Malbec he had recommended (the woman's Spanish was flawless).

But then the music started and the dancing began. As in Buenos Aires, the dance of choice was the tango. And the Carmichaels danced. Dios Mio, did they dance. The skill. The grace. The passion. It brought a smile to his face and to the faces of so many of the regular patrons. Over and over again. Dance after dance. The Carmichaels were the sensation of the evening. They had clearly learned the tango from a superb instructor and had spent many hours in practice.

But more than anything else, Borges was a true romantic and he was positively delighted by the sight of the two attractive young people so obviously, deeply, and totally in love with each other.

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A/N2: An ROV is a remotely operated vehicle. Sort of a robot on a tether with a video camera attached and controlled from an X-box controller (well, not really, but you get the idea). Treasure hunters, among others, use them nowadays to pick up valuable items located too deep for human divers to venture.

A/N3: There's a joke I like: The President wants to know the best law enforcement agency in the country. He gets together the FBI, the CIA and the LAPD [insert your favorite local police department here – LAPD, SFPD, NYPD, etc. Doesn't matter.]. He tells them, "I've released a rabbit in the woods. The first of you that brings me the rabbit will be the best." The FBI goes into the woods and comes out a little later and says, "We found the rabbit. We talked to the rabbit. We determined that the rabbit did not violate any Federal statutes, so we released the rabbit." The President says, "Bullshit. You didn't find the rabbit." The CIA goes into the woods and comes back and says, "We found the rabbit. We recruited the rabbit. The rabbit now works for us. Nothing will happen in the woods without us knowing about it." The President says, "Bullshit. You didn't find the rabbit." The LAPD goes into the woods. A few minutes later a badly beaten bear comes stumbling out of the woods declaring, "I'M A RABBIT. I'M A RABBIT."

A/N4: As usual, thanks to all of you who read, review, follow, favorite, PM and anything else. It's what makes this fun. And it's really fun.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Can we vote to decide who should own Chuck?

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Sarah, in her Wienerlicious outfit, made her way through the mall towards the pet store to buy goldfish food. Her mind, though, was not on her somewhat mundane errand, because she was sure she was being followed. She considered using the comlink on her watch to contact Chuck or Casey and ask for another pair of eyes, but didn't want to call in the cavalry just yet. She hadn't even seen her watcher, but she knew he was there. Her spy sense was acute and blaring. She smiled to herself slightly. Spy sense sounds like "spidey sense" from those comics Chuck reads and she'd never have known that a couple of months ago. Then she thought 'Focus, Walker,' as she scolded herself angrily.

She stopped to appear to look at the display in a random store and, instead, used the window as a mirror to see the people behind her. She was looking, in particular, for out-of-place movement. As she had stopped suddenly, any watcher might also be expected to do the same. The sudden movement might give them away. Even a head turning suddenly in her direction. Nothing. No one. She walked another hundred yards or so and tried again, spinning on her heels and walking back in the direction she came from. Nothing, no results. Nobody looked odd or made any sudden moves. She made a point of checking out people's shoes. While disguises changing a person's looks were easy (jackets, sunglasses, hats, wigs, etc.), watchers almost never changed their shoes.

After a couple more anti-surveillance drills, none of which yielded results, she made her way to into a large store and immediately left by the back exit to the parking lot. She stood behind a decorative tree in a planter and watched the door she had just passed through. She waited for the watcher to leave the building. Suddenly, her arm was grabbed from behind and a hard object was jammed into her lower back on the right side. An indistinct growl said, in Polish, "One move and you're dead." Woman's voice. Shit.

Sarah glanced back to her left and saw the woman's left shoulder, so the right hand held the gun. Sarah spun in place, her left forearm sweeping behind her to knock the barrel of the gun out of alignment with her body, her right hand sweeping up for a teisho palm strike to the woman's nose. To her surprise, her left wrist was caught midstrike in the other woman's left hand. Sarah jammed her whole body forward to knock the other woman off balance and was shifting her weight to follow with a head butt when she realized she had brushed aside not a gun, but a plastic water bottle.

The other woman, grinning behind large sunglasses and a Lakers baseball cap, said, in English this time, "Hey, Blondie. You're getting slow. I think you're getting too many wieners here in LA."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sarah stepped back, looked at her old friend and said, "Your cover?"

"Carina Miller. You?"

"Sarah Walker." Sarah thought for a couple of seconds and said, "You were tailing me from the front."

Solo surveillance on foot without being spotted by the target was a very difficult practice. That's the reason such surveillance is most often executed with a team of watchers, instead of solo. To do it solo from the front of the target required an operator of exceptional skill, superb intuition, and, to be perfectly honest, a good bit of luck.

"Sure," said Carina with a grin. "Was a hell of a lot easier when you started doing anti-surveillance drills. After that I knew what you were going to do next...cause it was just what I'd do. How did you know I was around?"

"I didn't. I just had a feeling. This way." said Sarah, motioning for them to walk. Carina nodded. She knew better than to scoff at another spy's intuition.

"Can't you ever just say hello, like a normal person?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, come on. Where's the fun in that? This is much more exciting," said Carina.

They were now back walking through the mall to the pet store. Sarah still needed the goldfish food. "What?" asked Sarah. "Like that time in Amsterdam? When you jumped me in my hotel room dressed like a ninja? That was insane. You are legitimately crazy."

"It was fun," said Carina in her own defense.

"It was stupid. You could have been badly hurt. I didn't know who you were and wasn't pulling my punches."

"Oh, don't be boring. All I ended up with was a bloody nose," said Carina.

"And the broken table. You still owe me the cost of that table, by the way."

Carina laughed and said, "You can't make that money up handling wieners? I'll bet you're pretty good at handling wieners. God knows, I've known you to..."

"Here we are," Sarah interrupted as they arrived at the pet store. The transaction to purchase the goldfish food was in-and-out. They were back in the mall in a matter of minutes and began to walk back to the Wienerlicious and Sarah's car.

"So, what's in the jar?"

"Goldfish food."

"No, seriously."

"Goldfish food."

"Look," said Carina. "I understand if you can't tell me. I mean, I understand classified and stuff. Just say you can't tell me."

"I can't tell you," said Sarah.

"I knew it. I knew was a drop."

"Of goldfish food," said Sarah.

"Hah. Right. So, you're working in Los Angeles now? Sounds really boring."

Sarah laughed. "Not always. But seriously, Carina. Tell me. If you're here it means you need something. What is it?"

"A diamond"

"Wow, you looking to settle down," asked Sarah, with a smile and a disbelieving look.

"No, I'm going to steal one. And you are going to help me."

If it were anyone else, Sarah would have scoffed, but, it was Carina, so Sarah was pretty sure she'd be stealing a diamond sometime soon.

They ended up back at Sarah's Porsche where Chuck was waiting for her. As Carina and Sarah approached, Sarah saw Chuck flash on Carina. Carina didn't notice or more probably didn't recognize it for what it was.

Sarah said, "Chuck, this is my friend Carina Miller. She's with the DEA."

Chuck smiled and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Carina."

Carina was obviously surprised that her professional affiliation had been so casually dropped to this man in a Nerd Herd uniform from the nearby Buy More. Sarah continued, "Carina, this is Chuck. He's the analyst on my team." Carina spent a long moment looking back and forth between Sarah and Chuck. She was struggling very hard to hide her surprise.

Finally mastering her facial expression, she said, "Oh, great. Any team can use a tall, handsome analyst. What do you analyze, Chuck? Or who, maybe? " Carina asked in a sexy voice, reaching out and lightly touching his upper arm.

"I...Uhh...I..."

"Oh," Sarah said. "And Chuck is my boyfriend." She leaned in and gave Chuck a kiss that made it very, very clear that she meant it. "Just thought you should know," she told Carina with both a smirk and a warning look.

Carina took the news without much change in expression. "Ok...lucky you, Sarah. Does he have a friend you can introduce me to?"

Chuck and Sarah shared a look and broke out laughing. Casey approached in his Buy More green shirt and said, "What's so..." He caught sight of Carina and stopped. "Miller." There was no warmth in his voice (not that his voice was ever overflowing with warmth).

"Casey. I hardly recognized you. Have you gained weight? No...No, that's not it...oh, I get it now, you're wearing pants."

He growled. Sarah stepped in to defuse the situation. "Well, Carina. Now you've met the team. Let's head somewhere and you can tell us about this diamond and why you need our help. Why don't you come with me? Chuck and Casey can follow in Casey's car. Guys," she turned to Chuck and Casey, "Carina has a mission and seems to need our help."

"I don't work for Carina," growled Casey.

Carina said, "Don't worry, Casey. It's not a favor and not off-the-books. My Administrator is reaching out to Graham, and, I guess, Beckman, to get official cooperation. You can get the download from me now or wait until you talk to your bosses and get the download then. Your call, Big Guy. Talking to me might stop you from going off half-cocked... like in Prague."

Casey growled louder.

"What happened in Prague?" Chuck asked Casey.

"None of your business, Moron." Chuck and Casey got into the Crown Vic.

Sarah got into the driver's seat of her Porsche and Carina took the passenger seat. As they pulled away from the parking lot, Carina said, "You didn't tell them where to go...where to meet you."

"They know."

"What is this team? A hybrid? NSA and CIA working together? That never happens. You guys hate each other. And your boyfriend...Oh," she interrupted herself and reached out and lightly touched Sarah's arm. "I'm sorry to hear about Bryce."

"Thanks," Sarah said with a sad smile of thanks to her friend. "Yeah. It sucks."

"Well, getting dead is an occupational hazard. More likely than retirement. Anyway, what's the assignment here?"

"Sorry, Carina. It's top secret. It's enough for you to know that this is my team and it's a good one." She smiled to take away the sting of her words.

"Ok, so just to be clear, you didn't give up being a field agent for the CIA to handle wieners and Casey and Chuck aren't selling Buy More stuff for a living. Your," she used finger quotes, "boyfriend isn't really a geek."

"Nerd."

"What?"

"He prefers 'nerd'."

Carina made a frummmppppff noise and looked out the window. "What's the story with you two then?"

"I told you, we're dating."

"It's a cover, right?"

"No. We're really dating. For real."

"Are you two serious? I mean is the relationship serious?"

"Oh, who the hell knows, you know? Graham could decide that tomorrow I'm in Jakarta and then what? I just take things one day at a time. We both know spies don't..."

"Fall in love...yeah, that's just what I know." Driving, Sarah missed the odd look she got from Carina. "Well, if you won't talk to me about your mission here, I'll just have to talk to your boyfriend Chuck."

"That's not going to happen. It's my team and you're going to do things my way. Here we go." They pulled into a parking lot and stopped in front of O'Malley's Bar and Grill. Making their way inside, they found Chuck and Casey sitting in a booth, facing each other. Carina sat next to Chuck, just a little too close, a little bit inside his personal space. Sarah frowned slightly at that.

Sarah began, "Carina tells me our mission will be to obtain a diamond. So, Carina the floor is yours."

Carina twisted around a tablet computer that she had removed from her purse, showing a photo of a middle aged balding man. "The Nadan-I-Noor is currently in the possession of a man named Peyman Alahi, a financier for the Afghan opium cartel."

"He's a financier and his name is Pay Man? Who writes this stuff?" asked Chuck.

"He's living here in Malibu and my boss thinks that if we can remove the diamond from his possession..." she changed the picture to one of the diamond itself. It was huge, just slightly smaller than a golf ball. Chuck flashed. Sitting next to him Carina didn't notice, but Casey and Sarah did. "...we can disrupt the flow of heroin out of Afghanistan," said Carina.

Casey and Sarah willed Chuck to keep quiet about his flash and he did, with a small nod to them of understanding.

"Remove from his possession? You mean steal it?" asked Sarah.

"Ocean's Eleven?" said Chuck. "Don't we need George Clooney and Brad Pitt?"

"Not with you here, Chuck. I'd take you over Brad Pitt any day," said Carina with a small smile, putting her hand on his forearm and rubbing it slightly. Chuck looked uncomfortable and took his arm off the table. Sarah looked a little annoyed. Casey's expression was hard to read, but maybe held a little anticipation – as if he, and he alone, knew something fun was going to happen and he hoped to be able to watch it.

"Yes," said Carina. "We need to steal it. You've told me you have a good team, Wienerwarmer. Let's see if you're right."

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"Good morning, Team," General Beckman said. Chuck and Sarah had cleared the table of the breakfast dishes (pancakes) while Casey opened the com link to their bosses.

"Morning, General, Director."

"We understand that Agent Miler from the DEA has been in contact last evening. Her Administrator has reached out to us as well and asked for our ...your...help on this matter. We have agreed to cooperate with the DEA mission," said Graham.

"That's a good idea, Director," said Chuck. "I flashed on the Nadan-I-Noor yesterday when Carina showed us a picture. It's not a drug diamond. It belongs to an Afghani terrorist group called Hezb-e Islami Gulbuddin. It's really important that we stop Alahi from … well, whatever he's going to do with it. Those guys are some bad mamma-jammas."

"Good to know, Chuck. Thanks. That makes this mission even more important," Beckman said. "Well, then, Team. Steal the diamond from Alahi. Our intel indicates you have 72 hours before he moves the stone. It's kept in his Malibu compound." A picture of an extensive Malibu compound filled the screen. "Good luck."

"Umm, General," said Sarah. "Perhaps we can leave the DEA out of it. Miller is a tremendous field agent...but we can't trust her. Chuck is way too valuable as the Intersect. And we have a solid team dynamic here that another person might disrupt."

"We are confident that your team is resilient enough to withstand the impact of an agent of Miller's caliber," said Graham.

"Director, I've had dealings in the past with Miller as well. She can be a bit of a wild card."

"We're aware of what happened in Prague, Major. "

Casey looked very uncomfortable. Sarah tried to hide a small smile. Chuck just looked confused, but knew better than to ask a second time. Seeing their reactions, Graham said, "I'll tell you later, Chuck."

Chuck said, "Kay."

Sarah thought, 'Well, that's good. I don't have to tell Chuck...wait...what? 'Tell you later'? What? Chuck was going to talk to Graham later? Without her? And neither Chuck nor Graham seemed to think that was any big deal? What the hell?' She looked at him with surprise.

Graham continued, "Miller's reputation is exactly why you return the stone directly to us. Under no circumstances should she be entrusted with the diamond."

Sarah said, "Understood, Sir."

They broke the connection. Casey sighed deeply. Sarah said, "Ok, guess we're stuck with her."

Chuck said, "And I guess I have work to do. Casey, ok if I use your place today? Ellie and Devon are sleeping in after eighteen hour shifts. I don't want to disturb them."

"Sure, kid."

"What are you going to be doing?" Sarah asked Chuck.

"Getting everything I can find on Alahi, the diamond and his house. In addition to the NSA and CIA databases, and, of course, whatever is openly available on the Internet, Beckman and Graham've gotten me access to just about all the other government databases you can think of. Treasury, Customs, INS... hell, I can get all the local stuff too...LAPD, CHiPs, even the LA Department of Building and Safety. Want to know about fire extinguisher violations at his compound? I got that. It's gonna take me a few hours to get it all and review it. Want to meet back here this afternoon?"

"Sounds good," said Casey. He looked out the window and said, "Walker, your pal is outside by the fountain. You go deal with her. I'll follow when the coast is clear."

"You know, for a really brave guy, you are hiding in here from a woman."

"Not hiding and not just any woman, Walker. It's Carina freaking Miller. Wise men stay away from her."

Sarah laughed and said, "Well, hard to disagree with that. OK, see you guys this afternoon." She kissed Chuck and left.

Three minutes later Casey left, "G'luck, Bartowski."

"Later, Case."

Chuck buckled down to his research and let the hours pass.

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A/N2: Anyone who catches the James Bond homage in this chapter is … well, a huge nerd.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: David Carner recently told us he doesn't own Chuck or fluff. I believe he doesn't own Chuck. But as to fluff, I think he has a long term lease with an option to buy at a minimal price.

Sorry for the longer than usual delay in posting this chapter. The real world interfered with my writing time.

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Chuck answered the knock on Casey's door and found Carina on the other side. "Hi, Chuck. Can I come in?"

"Uhh, sure, but Sarah and Casey aren't here right now. They should be back soon, though."

"Ok, if I wait inside?"

Chuck realized he was still blocking the door and stepped back embarrassed, "Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course. Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you weren't welcome. Of course, you..."

She rubbed his arm and said, "It's ok, Chuck. I didn't think you were being rude. Just relax. I don't bite." She said the last with a sexy smile and a wink.

"Can I get you some coffee? Casey doesn't keep a full larder, but he does like good coffee. I was just going to make a pot. I expect it's going to be a late night."

"That's so sweet of you, Chuckles. Thank you."

Chuck went into Casey's kitchen and began the coffee.

Carina said, "Any luck today?" She was idly wandering around Casey's living room, taking note of things here and there. She spent a long time looking at his bonsai tree.

"Yeah, some. How helpful any of it will be...I guess we'll know as we get to the planning stage of the mission. You guys have been after Alahi for almost a decade, but you've never gotten enough evidence to turn over to the FBI or a prosecutor."

"Yeah, I know...on second thought, should we wait for the others for the full download?"

"Probably a good idea. Save us from doing it twice." He was standing in the kitchen leaning on the counter with his arms crossed in front of him.

"So, if we're not going to talk business,..tell me about yourself, Chuck."

"Not too much to tell. I'm the supervisor of the Nerd Herd desk at the local Buy More. I fix computers," he said with a lopsided grin. "My life is pretty boring. How about you?"

She snorted slightly, "Nothing too exciting either. Just your typical undercover DEA agent, roaming the world hooking up with drug dealers and kingpins to bust their sorry asses for the sake of truth, justice and the American way. Hoping that, with my next big victory, I will get an assigned parking space a little closer to the entrance to headquarters in Springfield. But, we have great retirement benefits," she said with a somewhat rueful smile. "Naw, that sounds too jaded. The truth is I still love my job. It's usually pretty exciting. I go to fancy parties in exotic locales and get to dress up on an expense account. Of course, I run into a lot of bad guys, but I'm a bit of a badass myself, so it's all worked out ok so far."

Chuck laughed. "I don't know if you can say, but have you known Sarah long? You guys seem pretty friendly."

"I can't say much, but yeah. A few years now. We worked together before and got along well. She's the best...I mean actually the best. The best spy I've ever worked with. The best spy I've ever known. Casey too...but I will hurt you severely if you ever tell him I said so."

"I believe you. Your secret is safe with me."

"I know you can't talk about it, Sarah warned me as much, but this is a crazy team assembled here at the Burbank Buy More. CIA/NSA combo. That's pretty much unheard of. And two of the country's top spies...and you. I don't know you, Chuckles, but just that right there tells me that you must be bringing something pretty special to the table. So, I'm braced for it."

"Braced for what?"

"Braced for you to dazzle me," she said.

"Oh, shit," he said with a nervous grin. "Now I'm going to have performance anxiety."

"You're Sarah's boyfriend. I'm willing to bet you don't have performance issues with her."

"Oh, God..No...that's not what I ...no..I mean..."

Carina laughed and said, "Relax, Chuck, relax. I was just teasing you."

"Coffee's ready," he said, pouring her a cup and taking a cup himself.

"You were right," she said taking a sip. "Casey does have good coffee. That's one of the perks of my job. South American coffee is superb."

"I guess in your line of work you are down there a lot," said Chuck.

"Yeah. I remember once when Sarah and I..." She stopped herself. "Sorry. All the classifications and top secret this and that. It's why spies don't talk about their lives too much. You get into habits of secrecy and they are hard to break."

"I know. Well, at least I'm learning."

"Sarah?"

"Ummm -hummm," Chuck nodded his head.

"You're a couple. She's your girlfriend."

"Yeah," said Chuck, with a slightly dreamy smile.

"How's that going? You and Sarah," asked Carina.

"Great. I mean...great. We're great...she's great...she's...really great," he stammered, clearly embarrassed by the question. Carina was watching him closely, with intelligent appraisal, but he barely noticed as he thought about Sarah.

The front door opened and Casey and Sarah came in. "Speak of the devil," said Carina.

"Hey," said Sarah, kissing Chuck hello.

"Hey. How was work?" asked Chuck.

"I smell like grease."

"Hey, Case," said Chuck.

"Bartowski. Miller," said Casey. "You have a productive day or did you spend all day drinking my coffee?"

"Would 'both' be an acceptable answer? Cause I didn't know it was an either/or type of situation," Chuck responded.

"Alright," said Sarah. "Let's order some dinner and then we can get the download from Chuck."

Dinner ordered, Carina said, "Handle a lot of wieners today, Blondie? How about you, Casey? Sell anything to advance the nation's security? All the while, someone here was actually working today." She ran her hand through Chuck's curly hair and slowly down the back of his neck. She leaned down and said, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek, "Isn't that right, Chuckles?" He didn't exactly flinch, but he didn't look at all comfortable either.

Casey almost growled. Sarah said, with a frown, "Knock it off, Carina."

Carina laughed lightly and gave Chuck's neck another light pat. She drank some more coffee. "Can I get you or Casey some coffee? Chuckles made it. He makes great coffee," she purred.

Sarah said, "No," still frowning.

Casey said, "I'll get it myself." He looked uncharacteristically pleased, almost expectant.

Chuck said, "Ok, let's get some work done." He had set up the TV to accept pictures from his laptop. He started with the diamond itself, it's size, shape, and value, then he moved on it its history and current ownership by the Afghan terrorist group. It seems they intended to use the diamond to fund the purchase of $26 million worth of surface to air missiles.

Dinner arrived and they began to eat. Carina took every opportunity to touch Chuck, brushing her hand over his arm or sitting a little too close to him. She laughed a little too loudly at his jokes and gazed at him seemingly enraptured when he talked. Chuck was uncomfortable and Sarah got more and more annoyed as the meal progressed.

When Carina got up to bring empty plates into the kitchen, Sarah followed her and said, "Stop it. Stop flirting with Chuck."

"Oh, yeah, right," said Carina dismissively with a smirk.

Sarah's anger at her friend had been rising for almost an hour by that point and it boiled over. "Outside, now," she hissed.

Once in the courtyard and alone with each other, Sarah said, angrily, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What?" said Carina with feigned innocence.

"Don't you 'what?' me. You know perfectly well. Getting all handsy with Chuck. Flirting with him. Running your fingers through his hair. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Stop it. Chuck is off limits."

Carina laughed lightly. "Off limits? Oh, come on. You know better than that."

"I'm serious, Carina. Stop it."

"Where'd that 'off-limits' idea come from? Since when? Just because you're sleeping with him?"

"Yes, exactly," said Sarah.

"Oh, come on, Blondie. That doesn't make him off limits, that's exactly what makes it fun."

"No," said Sarah. "You don't understand."

"If you weren't sleeping with him it's not much of a challenge. There'd be no good basis of comparison and nothing interesting to talk about later. Come on. Lighten up," said Carina.

Sarah said, "No. I told you. He's my boyfriend. For real." She was growing increasingly frustrated with Carina's obstinate refusal to listen.

"So what? All that means is you're sleeping with him regularly. Still not off limits. You said yourself that the relationship wasn't serious. You told me that yesterday."

"NO," yelled Sarah, grabbing Carina by her upper arms. "No. You don't understand. He's more than just a boyfriend. He's more...he's more...I think I...I...he's more." By the end of her outburst, Sarah's voice had shrunk to almost a whisper. She was still angry, but stood looking at Carina suddenly silent, shocked at what she'd just admitted.

Carina gently touched Sarah's arms and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek and wrap her in a hug. She said, quietly, "I do understand, Sarah. I do. I've understood all along. I just thought you needed to hear yourself say it." Sarah reared back slightly and stared at Carina with surprise in her eyes, her anger dissipating like a wisp of smoke. Carina continued, "For the first time since I've known you, and I've known you quite a while now, you seem happy...here in Burbank...really happy."

"I wasn't unhappy before," said Sarah quietly.

Carina continued as if Sarah hadn't spoken. "You're almost glowing you're so happy. I didn't know why until the moment I saw you two together. Then I understood. I understood immediately. So, don't you go feeding me that crap about your relationship with Chuck not being serious...that's bullshit." Sarah continued to stare at Carina, stunned by the direction the conversation was taking. "You were feeding yourself the same line of bullshit. Right?" Sarah looked away. "That's what I thought. And I wasn't going to let it continue. So, I pushed you. I pushed you to do...this."

Sarah hugged her and said, "I hate you so much."

"I know. I know," said Carina, lightly rubbing Sarah's back.

Carina just held her gently for a while. "So, I guess it's serious," Sarah said eventually with a small smile.

"Guess so," said Carina, with a nod and a tiny smile that Sarah couldn't see.

"I'm scared. I don't know how to do serious."

"I know. Don't blame you. It's pretty much uncharted territory. Would be for me too, so I'm sort of lacking in the advice thing. The one thing I can tell, though, is that he seems like a really good guy and he's crazy about you. You should see the look he gets in his eyes when he thinks about you...when he talks about you. You guys will figure it out."

"You think so? I suck at relationships. You know that."

"Naw. That's not what I know. What I know is you suck at picking guys to have a relationship with. That's the truth. Maybe you finally picked a good one. Maybe you picked the right one," said Carina.

"The right one? That has a pretty serious sound to it."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? Deal with it."

Their relationship was serious. Sarah was trying to process what Carina had forced her to admit to herself. A serious relationship? What did that even mean? She knew she was exclusive with Chuck...that they were exclusive with each other. She had figured that out just before she beat the hell out of La Ciudad. She knew she wanted to spend time with him. To be with him. To hold him and be held by him. Now that she thought about it, she realized that she wanted to spend all her time with him. "Alone time" no longer held the attraction for her that it once had. She had never been a snuggler, but the thought of waking up with him in the morning, being snuggled in his arms, made her feel a comfortable warmth inside having nothing to do with actual body temperature. Carina was right. He made her happy. And she couldn't remember ever being happy before. Not like this.

Their relationship was serious. But what could that even mean in her line of work? She had told Carina the truth the day before. Her job could pull her to the other end of the world at a moment's notice. How could she have a serious relationship when her life was so uncertain? Her future so unknowable? Even if the powers that be didn't call her away suddenly, life here in Burbank could be dangerous and potentially deadly. Was it fair to Chuck to run headlong and heedless into a serious relationship when she could be dead on the next mission? Life's uncertainty made short term "un-serious" relationships easier and more palatable, but, she was forced to acknowledge now, so much less satisfying.

Their relationship was serious. She felt something for Chuck that she had never felt for any previous boyfriend. The thought of Bryce flashed into her mind and out again in a heartbeat. No comparison. Had Casey been right weeks ago? Did she love Chuck? Spies don't fall in love. Was she in love? Maybe for the first time in her life? Certainly, for the first time in her life. Every time she turned around something or someone seemed to be pushing that question to the front of her mind. She thought of her dad's admonitions to avoid love as a loser's game. Her dad...

She was standing there, lost in her own head, but her thoughts were interrupted by Carina. "Come on Blondie, we can talk about this later. If we don't get inside now, Casey will drink all the coffee." She smiled weakly and nodded.

The curtain in the window fluttered as two watching men scurried away from the window. Chuck had been interested to see what would happen between the women and to make sure Sarah was ok, but Casey merely wanted to see Sarah kick Carina's ass. He was deeply disappointed.

As they went back inside, Carina said, "Chuckles, Sarah has set me straight. I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable. I'll behave from now on...promise."

Chuck said, "S'okay, Carina. No worries." He smiled at her somewhat tentatively.

"I'll just pay more attention to Casey from now on," she said with a sexy smile.

Casey came very close to spitting out his coffee.

Chuck got everyone back to business. A picture of Alahi was up on the screen. Chuck explained what he'd learned about the man. Where he was born and raised. His family. His London-based wife and their children at Swiss boarding schools. Where he himself had attended school. His business dealings and financial situation. Where his holdings were and what investigations into them had revealed or not. His assets, insurance arrangements, and accounting and legal relationships. The screen in front of them shifted among pictures, maps, graphs and blueprints. His charitable and political donations. Chuck was very clear about what questions the government still had and the difficulty in obtaining evidence of his financing Afghan opium. The inconclusive evidence of recent connections to Afghan terrorists. The discussion and questions and answers lasted for almost two hours.

Sarah was uncharacteristically quiet. Carina was a willing participant, but seemed maybe a little impatient with the process.

Finally, Chuck moved on to the Malibu compound itself. Its size and layout. Its power requirements. It's security, or at least as much of the security as he could determine from the available sources. The number of armed guards Alahi had on staff. One particularly useful discovery was that the compound utilized a series of SVB-54 explosion protected security cameras with infrared surveillance and thermal imaging (which devices were visible and identifiable from drone camera footage the DEA had on file).

Sarah asked, "Why is that good news?"

"Because those cameras are wireless. They can work on either bluetooth or a wi-fi system. If it's wi-fi and I can get into the wi-fi network, I can control all those cameras. That would get us a step up when we try to get the stone."

"How would you get into that system, Bartowski?" asked Casey.

"Well, if we could insert one of the NSA's BB-88 devices into the area I can use it to hack past the firewall and …"

Carina laughed, "It's not a cover."

"What?" asked Chuck.

"The Nerd Herd. You really are a geek," she said.

"Nerd," Sarah and Chuck said at the same time.

Carina's continued chuckling and interrupted herself with a gasp. She was suddenly staring at him with her blue eyes growing wide-eyed in astonishment. In almost a whisper she said, "Holy shit. You're Carmichael...from Union Station...you're Carmichael."

Chuck glanced quickly at Sarah and Casey who both nodded. Chuck said, "Yeah."

"HOLY SHIT. Oh my God..." she sat silently looking at all three of them one after the other for almost a full minute. Finally, she said, "And La Ciudad?"

Sarah nodded. She realized Carina wouldn't have heard about the Zarnow mission, as it had been kept very quiet for any number of reasons.

"Jesus Christ...holy shit...you told me your team was good, Sarah, but I had no idea. This isn't good. This is a goddamn super team. I don't know how long you've been operating, but those two ...successes...wow...Ok, Chuck...I'm officially dazzled. You win." She reached out to give him a fist bump.

"Carina," began Sarah, "this is highly classified..."

"Yeah, no shit," she was almost giggling. "I got that, Wienerwarmer. Wait, that's not right anymore, is it? How about 'Chuck'swienerwarmer'? Naw, no good. Too much of a mouthful...oh, a mouthful...get it? I made a .."

"Can we get back to work, please?" asked Casey, irritably.

"Sure," said Carina. "Apologies, Blondie. LA is not boring. I stand corrected."

"So, anyway," continued Chuck. "If I can get that device inside the compound I can take control of the security cameras. Loop them, or something. I can blind Alahi's security team."

"That's no big deal. We can drop it on the roof from a drone," said Casey.

"That would work with the BB-87, which has its own power source. I want to use the 88, which has to be plugged into a wall socket. It's got more power and range and we wouldn't have to time our entry to the ticking clock of its battery life."

"How big is the 88?" asked Sarah.

"It's designed to mimic an Apple cube..for recharging your phone. Little white box. Same size, shape and color."

"Well, that's easy enough to get inside. And wouldn't draw any attention. Those things are all over the place," said Carina. "You told us there's a party there tomorrow. You, Sarah and I crash the party, recon the compound from the inside, and plant your doohickey."

"No," said Casey. "I have a better idea. Kid, can you dummy up some emails from Alahi's insurance carrier?"

"Sure, that's easy."

"So, what do you think of a snap inspection of the security system by the carrier insuring the contents of the compound? We get the target to give us the guided tour of the system we have to crack to get the stone."

"That's a great idea, Casey," said Sarah.

"Yeah, but it might be awkward for us to plant the 88," said Chuck. "We'll have Alahi's security guys with us the whole time."

"So, we'll do both," said Carina. "Sarah and I will go to the party and plant it and you boys will go in as insurance men."

"That actually might work," said Chuck.

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The next day

It was a beautiful California day, late in the afternoon. Sunny and warm with only a light breeze coming off the Ocean to cool things down. Carina looked around the party at the vapid, attractive people drinking and laughing by the pool. She also saw the dozen or so armed security guards in suits, stationed on the periphery of the festivities. They were as inconspicuous as gorillas in dinner jackets.

She knew that her appearance gave her entre to the crowd without too many questions. Sheep's clothing was one of her most effective tools.

Sarah was at Carina's side, smiling and laughing, but with her eyes constantly scanning, her brain processing – the cameras, the security goons, the exits, the spotlights, anything and everything that might help them get close to Alahi and the diamond.

They had been at the party for forty-five minutes already and had, on a run to the ladies' room, planted two BB-88's and several minicameras and listening devices. Their recon had indicated that there should be a display room downstairs which, hopefully, housed the diamond. Chuck and Casey were on the property as insurance men and should be able to confirm.

Alahi himself was sitting by the edge of the pool in a speedo bathing suit with gold chains around his neck surrounded by five young women in skimpy bikinis. The women were hanging on his every word. Chuck's briefing had been incomplete. It had failed to mention that Alahi was covered with a thick coat of hair everywhere but on his head. Wasn't life unfair? This guy needed a serious waxing, thought Carina. He's really pretty gross.

Sarah spoke quietly, "I'm going to head around to the other side and see what's there. I'll be looking for a refill."

"Ok," said Carina. Sarah headed off, her empty champagne glass in her hand.

As she studied Alahi, an idea came to her. She appreciated the thorough planning and briefing that Sarah and her team had put together and understood that today was merely recon, but she was an improviser. That's how she got things done. She spotted opportunities and exploited them. It was one of her strengths. As she looked at Alahi, all she thought was "opportunity".

He was telling a story to the five bikini-clad girls crowding around him and was clearly enjoying the attention from his rapt listeners. There was no wariness in his gaze, just the pump he got from having his ego stroked by the pretty girls. Well, an ego stroke might be just what this mission called for.

Making sure to stand in his line of sight, Carina stretched to her full height and slowly pulled her dress off over her head. She languidly dropped it on top of her purse, toed off her sandals, and stepped to the edge of the pool. She performed a long graceful shallow dive and swam under the water to a stop about five feet in front of Alahi. Slowly rising from the water, she saw that he was staring at her, as she knew he would be. Using both hands, she pushed the water from her hair over the back of her head, which had the effect of thrusting her breasts forward. She held his gaze for a moment or two and said, "Excuse me, is this where the pre-school meets?"

Alahi said, with a small confused grin, "What?"

She gestured at the five pretty girls and said, "I see you with these children. I just assumed it was the pre-school. I thought maybe you would prefer to talk to a woman for a change." Her voice was a sexy, husky growl.

Alahi looked at the girls and made a dismissive motion with his hand, "Later, girls. I'm busy now." They left him alone with Carina, pouting and flouncing their departure.

Carina smiled at him and said, "I understand you are my host today."

"Pretty women call me Peyman."

"Well, Peyman, how can I ever thank you for such a lovely party in such a beautiful home?"

"Perhaps I can think of something."

"Now doesn't that sound interesting?" She stepped forward and laid a light hand on his hairy thigh. "Will I get tour?"

"Would you like one?"

She smiled a sexy smile and said, "Only if it's very thorough. I want to see everywhere...and everything. Can you do that, Peyman? Can you show me all your private places?" She had moved much closer to him and was standing waist deep in the water between his spread knees, looking up at him with hunger in her blue eyes.

He grinned and said, "What's your name, beautiful lady?"

"Carina."

"Come with me, Carina. Let me show you some amazing things," said Alahi.

In her ear Carina heard Sarah's voice, "What are you doing? This isn't part of the plan. Disengage, Carina. Disengage."

Alahi held out a hand for her to leave the pool. She took his hand, and, never breaking eye contact, ever so slowly climbed out of the pool with an exaggerated sway to her hips.

"Carina, disengage. We can't cover you if you are inside. You'll be on your own. Disengage." Carina waved her hand behind her, seeming to wipe something off the back of her thigh, but actually to wave off Sarah.

"No, stop it. Don't go in there..." Carina stuck a finger in her ear, ostensibly to rid her ear of pool water. She switched off her earwig.

Her hand on his arm, Carina followed Alahi into his home and disappeared from Sarah's view.

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A/N2: Only WvonB caught the Bond homage in the last chapter. In Diamonds Are Forever, the novel, not the movie, Felix Leiter does a front tail on Bond on the streets of 1956 Manhattan. It ends with the same kind of "can't you just say hello like a normal person" dialogue. That made much more sense to me than hand-to-hand combat in Sarah's hotel room. WvonB gets oak leaf clusters annexed to his nerd badge.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Thanks to all of you for following along.

Somebody owns Chuck. Or so I'm told.

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Carina checked the time on the luminous dial her watch. Dawn would arrive in a half hour or so, which was perfect. She listened to the rough sound of Alahi's snoring. It had not changed in pitch, volume or rhythm for well over an hour, clearly enough time for him to enter the deepest stage of sleep. She had seen to it that he would be thoroughly exhausted, having kept him awake and active almost the entire night.

Moving very, very slowly, she drew back the sheet from her naked body. He did not stir and his breathing did not change. She swung her legs off the bed and sat on its edge. Freezing for a moment to confirm that there was no reaction from Alahi, she stood. Again, as her weight came off the bed, she stopped and waited. Nothing.

Padding soundlessly on bare feet, she found her bathing suit on the floor. The house was silent with just the gentle susurration of the Pacific waves far in the background. To her, the sound of her own breathing was even too loud. On a chair she found her dress and purse, with her sandals underneath the seat. Collecting it all, she moved to the bathroom to dress in the dark, still listening closely for any movement from the bed or change in his breathing. She took the string sling from her purse and draped it over her shoulders so the bag was behind her, bumping her butt. Her next stop was Alahi's closet, where she removed a leather belt and, having buckled it closed, looped it over one shoulder.

Moving to the door of the balcony overlooking the ocean, she grasped the cool metal handle and began to turn it. She prayed silently that the hinges hadn't rusted in the salt air and that the change in air pressure in the room didn't wake its sleeping occupant. She had a choice in opening the balcony door. Go slowly, so any changes were gradual and less likely to provoke a reaction or go quickly and minimize the time the door was open. She chose the latter, confident that she could talk her way out of any concern up to this point. 'Oh, Peyman, I'm sorry I woke you. I just wanted to smell the ocean air.'

She stepped out into the cool night air and took a heartbeat to gaze at the beauty of the ocean. 'Ok, girl. Now you're on,' she thought. She swung her legs over the balcony railing one at a time. Standing on the balcony, on the other side of the rail, she grabbed two of the vertical bars connecting the railing to the floor of the balcony. Squatting down and removing her feet from the balcony, she slid down the bars until she was able to transfer her grip to the balcony floor itself. Now she was hanging by her hands from the floor of the balcony, her feet about five feet off the ground. Releasing her grip, she fell the distance to the concrete patio below.

She froze on one knee and listened. All she heard were the waves and the wind moving the cord on an empty flagpole off on a corner of the property. She began to move to the side of the house. The entire house was painted white and she wore a black dress, which sort of sucked, she had to admit. It couldn't be helped, though. As she moved silently, her eyes were scanning everywhere – the grounds, the windows, the edges of the walls in her view, twisting behind her, the roof of the house and the ancillary buildings, the ground in front of her. She took advantage of shadows, but they were few and far between. She had earlier noted that the security cameras didn't completely cover this side of the house.

Finally, she came to a sliding glass door. Taking a quick look around to make sure she was still unobserved, she squatted down beside it. She studied the lock for a second or two. From her purse, she took out a tension wrench and a wavy pin rake. She had to laugh to herself about the Hollywood version of lock picking. The superspy jams a hairpin into the lock and the door magically opens. Of course, it wasn't like that in real life. A key, in addition to moving the pins of the lock into the necessary alignment, also exerts a twisting force on the lock cylinder. A single picking tool will not be able to do both, so lock picking is a two-handed activity. She set to it, exerting the torsion force on the lock cylinder with the tension wrench and gently scraping the rake over the pins inside the cylinder until she found the right alignment and the cylinder shifted. It had taken her about 25 seconds.

She opened the door and slid her body inside. She left the door slightly ajar, as she planned to leave by that door in a hurry. Again, she froze and listened for any out of place sounds. A few feet in front of her was the stairway down to the display room. When she was certain that she had heard nothing out of the ordinary, she moved to the top of the stairs.

Stairs creak. It's one of the things you learn in spy school. Stepping on the edges of the stairs minimized the risk, so she made her way down the stairs with her feet widely planted on each of the treads, a bizarre spread leg gait that looked ridiculous, but was thankfully silent. Her skirt was tight enough to impede that motion, so she had to hike it up a bit to spread her legs wide enough.

At the bottom of the stairs she checked her watch. Dawn should be coming up about now. She took her phone from her purse and ordered an Uber. What others might view as cockeyed optimism, she viewed as prudent advance planning.

She faced the light blue glass room at the bottom of the stairs and remembered Alahi's tour from the prior evening. The diamond was mounted on a lit pedestal in the center of the room. Protected by this locked and alarmed door, a sealed gas system based on inert gas fire extinguisher technology, an alarm on the diamond's mount itself, and, finally, a high voltage electric cage surrounding the mounted diamond (which Alahi almost didn't share last night, until she had reached for the stone and been abruptly stopped).

Given the pedestal alarm, she had decided that the equivalent of a smash-and-grab was a good plan. Sarah and her team would likely think it was elementary, but to her, the equivalent of throwing a brick through the jewelry store window, grabbing the stone and running away, was perfectly doable. It wasn't elegant or sophisticated, but would put her out of harm's way with the Nadan-I-Noor in her purse. And that was the mission.

She removed the SSA-3000 portable decryption and encoding device from her purse, plugged it into the access port on the wall mounted control pad and activated it. As expected, the device cycled through a series of numbers until it settled on 13680, the door's code. The device in her hand encoded the code onto a card, which she removed and inserted into the door's locking pad. The door opened without an alarm sounding.

She immediately moved a sculpture off a pedestal to the floor and moved the pedestal itself to sit in the open doorway, glancing at the ceiling to make sure of its placement. The room was equipped with a gas system activated by the trigger of the alarm on the diamond. These types of systems were designed when it was realized that valuable electronics would be damaged by water-based fire extinguishing systems. When triggered, they seal the room and flood the area with an inert gas like argon or halon to suffocate the fire. Of course, they would suffocate any human standing next to the fire as well, so there were elaborate safety precautions taken to avoid that. Alahi had not set up any of the safety protocols, of course.

Approaching the diamond, Carina moved with care. The high voltage cage around the stone was her next hurdle. She took Alahi's belt off her shoulder, unbuckled it, and tossed one end around to the far side of the pedestal, catching it with her other hand. she brought it up to the far side of the diamond mounting, being careful not to come too close to the electricity, until the belt was at the same height as the diamond. Then she froze for a minute while she ran through her next steps in her mind a couple of times. Up until now, she had had time to think carefully about each of her actions. In a moment, though, the time for thinking would be done and she would have to move and react as she had pre-planned. She was about to smash a brick into the jewelry store window.

Using both hands, one on either side of the pedestal, she snapped the leather belt through the high voltage electric cage to hit the diamond and knock it off its mount. She dropped the belt and caught the stone in midair as it spun towards her. The alarm sounded, blaring and discordant. She was already on the move. The top gate that had moved to slam closed over the doorway was blocked by the pedestal she had left there.

She tucked the diamond into her purse and sealed it closed while running through the doorway, ducking low to avoid the lowered gate, and ran up the stairs. She burst through the sliding door at the top of the stairs and began to run around the side of the house.

A guard came out of an open door about ten feet ahead of her. He reacted swiftly and braced himself with one leg forward with his hands raised in a classic karate front stance to stop her from fleeing. She ran straight at him. Her left foot landed on his forward right knee and boosted her up. As she rose on his bent leg, her right knee rose faster and caught him squarely under the jaw, snapping his head backwards and sending him pitching over. Without missing a step, she continued to run to the beach, having almost literally run over the guard.

She heard shouts behind her now mixed with the blaring of the alarm, but there was sand under her feet. She touched a button on her watch and the modified jet ski Sarah's team had pre-planted in position bobbed to the surface of the water. They had left two of the remote-controlled vehicles under the waves, in case one of both of their recon teams ran into trouble and needed a last-ditch emergency exit. Pulling off her dress as she ran to the newly surfaced black machine, she wrapped the dress around the string of her bag. Within moments, she was rocketing away from the beach, straight out into the Pacific.

She heard shots behind her but the slugs came nowhere near and shortly she was out of range. She gave a "Whoop" at the top of her lungs. Winston Churchill had been right, there was nothing so exhilarating as to be shot at without effect. She felt like she had champagne in her veins. Her speed whipped the wind through her hair. The salt spray splashed into her face and the day's new sun caused the waves before her to glisten and sparkle. She laughed and hollered. Damn, she loved her job.

Arriving on the beach a few miles away from the compound, she made her way quickly to the road, pulling on her dress. Her Uber was waiting. Settling into the back seat, she took out her phone and called Sarah.

"Morning, Blondie."

"Morning."

"I got the diamond and I'm heading to the hotel." She was staying in another room at Sarah's hotel.

"Ok. The team will meet you there."

"What? No, congratulations?"

Sarah had hung up. Carina figured she must still be angry about Carina deciding to stay with Alahi. Well, she thought, Sarah will have a hard time arguing with success. We have the diamond. Mission over.

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Carina had just come out of the shower and pulled on jeans and a tank top when there was a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole with her gun in her hand and saw Sarah.

Opening the door wide, she said, with a happy grin, "Morning all. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Sarah, Casey and Chuck came in unsmiling. "Oh, come on. Don't be sore. I acted spontaneously and we accomplished the mission. The important thing is we got the diamond. It's all good." She bounced the stone in her hand. Well, she thought, if they were going to hold a grudge about this...

Without a word, Chuck took out his laptop and opened it. Carina wondered what they were up to. None of them looked at all happy. He touched a few buttons and pulled up a picture of an old painting. It looked Dutch, a pretty girl with a blue scarf around her head. She had seen it recently.

Sarah said, "This painting is by Vermeer. It's called 'Girl With a Pearl Earring.' Does it look familiar?"

"Yes..."

"You passed it this morning in Alahi's display room."

"Yes, that's it. It was on the wall."

"Yes," continued Sarah. Chuck had brought up a second picture. It was a scene from a park in a more impressionist style. A woman in a white dress sitting on the grass with a lounging boy. "This one is by Manet and is called 'The Monet Family in Their Garden at Argenteuil'. It was also on the wall of the room with the diamond." While she was talking, Sarah had crossed the room to take a tall glass vase of flowers from the side table and bring it to the more centrally placed table in front of Carina. She took out the flowers and laid them down, leaving nothing in the vase but the water. "Give me the diamond." Sarah was still unsmiling.

Now uneasy for some reason, Carina handed her the diamond. Sarah placed it just above the water and slowly lowered it in. She let go. "Do you know what both of these paintings have in common, Carina? They are both in museums. The Vermeer is at the Mauritshuis at the Hague and the Manet is at the Met in New York." Carina watched spellbound as the diamond sunk through the water about three quarters of the way down the vase and stopped, floating about four inches above the bottom of the vase. "The paintings were fake. Just like the diamond you stole. Real diamonds don't float, Carina."

Carina stared at the floating stone, as her upbeat mood turned to ashes, and said, "Well, fuck me." Three pairs of eyes looked at her and all three resisted the obvious response. Moments after she said it, she regretted the expression.

"Alahi is a bullshitter," Sarah continued. "Putting on a show for others to prop up a fragile ego. He set up a fake diamond as a distraction, like the other fake shit in his display room. Casey and Chuck saw it all on their recon. It didn't seem weird to you that there were no security cameras on that room?"

"They were on the perimeter of his place. I thought they considered that enough," said Carina.

"No," said Sarah.

"So Alahi doesn't have the real diamond?"

"Oh, he does. In a real walk-in vault in the basement. Chuck and Casey did their jobs yesterday and somehow managed to stay on task. They got a complete tour of the security for the compound. Our operation to take the diamond starts tonight. We are already in his camera and computer system. We watched you all morning as you took the fake."

Carina was silent for a little while and said, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I tried to improvise and blew it."

Casey spoke for the first time since entering the hotel room, "I wanted to let you go back to the DEA with the fake stone."

"Payback for Prague?" she asked. Casey just shrugged.

"We weren't going to let you do that," said Sarah.

"I abstained," said Chuck.

"We weren't going to let you do that," Sarah repeated.

"Thank you. Thank you all,"

"Carina," Sarah spoke seriously, "when this team was first formed, we had growing pains. It took some mistakes before we learned to trust each other. Now we do. Totally. You and I both know how hard that is establish and how easy it is to lose. You blew it yesterday. Improvising is the same as 'ready, fire, aim'. No good. As a result, once Casey and Chuck left the compound with their recon complete, all three of us spent the entire night on watch outside Alahi's place waiting to see if you were in trouble and needed us. Casey alone would have gone in full-Rambo if you needed help. That's what a team does for each other. Now you are safe and out of danger. So that's it... Bye... Or ... we can use another pair of hands on tonight's job. The question of the moment is, can we trust you? Can we trust you not to improvise and to stay with us?"

"I'm sorry. Yes, you can trust me. I will be a good team player. I promise."

"Ok," said Sarah. "We're going to get some sleep. Meet me in my room at six tonight. We go in overnight."

"I will," said Carina, seemingly suitably chastised.

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Once in Sarah's room, Chuck and Sarah ordered breakfast from room service. Casey had agreed to meet them back at the room later, allowing everyone to get some sleep. Some of the equipment they needed they already had in the trunk of the Crown Vic or Sarah's Porsche, but he intended to swing by an NSA facility and pick up the additional gear for that night's operation.

"Well, I think she'll behave now. She's probably kicking herself for screwing up," said Chuck.

"Yeah, she'll behave for a while at least. Until her inner Carina comes back to the fore. I couldn't tell her this, but if that had been the real diamond, that would have been a really cool caper she pulled off."

"Um, yeah, I guess...but if the Queen had balls she'd be King...if it had been the real diamond, security would have been different, so we'll never know," answered Chuck.

"Fair enough," said Sarah. Chuck had opened her closet and was looking inside. "What are you looking for?"

"My black jeans. I'll need them tonight and I can't remember if I left them here or Echo Park." He continued to poke around.

"I think they're here. Let me help you." She came over to stand with him by the closet. "It's sort of a hassle to have stuff in both places. Last week I couldn't find my pink blouse and it was in your laundry," she said. And then suddenly realized the implications of the solution to the hassle and found herself a little flustered. "Oh, here you go." She handed him his jeans.

"Thanks."

Breakfast came and they wasted no time in eating. Dinner had been a few granola bars and a bottle of water while on alert by Alahi's compound. Sarah said, "I meant to ask you. Yesterday morning, when we were talking about Prague with Graham and Beckman, Graham said he'd tell you later. Since when do you talk to Graham without me?"

"A few weeks now. Was I not supposed to talk to him?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that ...I don't know...it was surprising, that's all."

"Don't you talk to him without me?"

"Yeah, but it's different. He's my boss," answered Sarah.

"He's my boss too."

"Well...yeah, he is. Do you talk to Beckman too?

"I do, but not as often as I talk to Graham."

"What do you talk about?"

"Nothing operational. He first called me when he and his wife were trying to set up an X-Box for their grandkids. He was stuck and called for help. We talk about once a week or so. Family. News. He asks how we're doing."

"Us?"

"Well, yeah, us, but also 'us' sometimes" he waved his hand around to indicate a bigger 'us'. "The team, the three of us. How we're doing."

"What do you tell him?"

"The truth. We're great. I'm accomplishing good things. Doing good important things. Despite the danger and craziness, I'm happier than I have been in...well, I don't even remember being this happy before...oh, God, that's such a terrible thing to say. Now something really bad is going to happen."

"I hope not." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm happy too, boyfriend-mine. You make me happy. Even Carina noticed it and commented on it."

He kissed her back with purpose. "I am going to make you even happier if you'll let me," he said, while lightly rubbing her back.

"Oh, I have an idea." Giggling, she went to her closet and took out a black plastic case the size of a shoebox. Taking out military style night vision goggles, she started to adjust the straps. Chuck took the breakfast cart and moved it outside their door with a do not disturb sign.

"Close the curtains, please." He did and the room became instantly darker. Like many hotel rooms, heavy dark curtains fit well over the windows and blocked almost all the sunlight. "So," she said, "You're going to have to wear these tonight and should get some practice beforehand. Let's do that." She spent a few minutes explaining the workings of the device and how Chuck would be operating it.

He put the goggles on his head as she turned off the lights darkening the room totally. He found he could see reasonably well, albeit entirely in shades of green and with no peripheral vision. As he watched, she took off her shirt and reached behind her with both hands to undo her bra.

"Let's see what you can manage while wearing those," said Sarah with a green tinted smile.

As it turned out, he could accomplish quite a bit. And vigorously.

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A/N2: Just a word about the high voltage electric cage surrounding the stone. I know we are talking about a show with a computer program in a guy's head, so we accept a certain suspension of disbelief, but seriously, guys. Electricity doesn't work that way. It travels along conductors. Air is not a conductor, it's an insulator. If there was anything like what the screenwriters described, it would be a hissing, crackling mess of lightning like you'd find in a mad scientist's lab. I know you all know this, but I just felt the need to share.

A/N3: Both of those paintings were on the wall in Alahi's display room. I guess the set designers were told to put up museum quality paintings from the prop room, and they put in museum paintings instead. There was a Van Gogh there too, but I couldn't get the name of the specific painting so didn't bother to add it to the story (Van Gogh had done a series of very similar landscapes and I couldn't narrow it down from there). I thought I could use that mistake to my advantage story-wise.

A/N4: Thanks to Zettel for his discussions with me about Carina. His Carina from Mis(Ed) and my Carina here are different ladies, but he helped me focus my thoughts tremendously. As usual, if my Carina is entertaining, we can thank Zettel's assistance. If not, she's all mine.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Can someone remind me why it matters who owns Chuck?

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Casey dropped over the wall, hit the ground and rolled to the side. Chuck landed next to him a moment later. He was not as skilled as Casey and landed much harder with an audible "Ooooff", but that was the only noise he made. If the hard landing had hurt, he kept that fact to himself. He's learning, thought Casey. The fact that he'd been given a stern warning about keeping quiet on this black bag job probably had something to do with it.

Carina, from the top of the ladder on the other side of the wall, swiftly lowered each man's backpack. With a nod to her, they shouldered their bags and disappeared into the concealment of the shrubbery around the perimeter of Alahi's compound.

She hid the ladder, sprinted back to the van and joined Sarah inside. Sarah sat on a rolling chair in front of a bank of computer monitors, her face lit only by the light of the monitors. "They're off," said Carina.

"Good," said Sarah. Her voice was neutral and business-like.

"Why them, Blondie? Why not one of us? Chuck's not a trained spy."

Never taking her eyes from the monitors, she said, "Because just about all of Alahi's security is tech based. There's nobody better with tech than Chuck. Casey? Because he lived in night vision goggles for seven months in Falluja. If he has to thread a needle in one of those things he can do it. And he'll protect Chuck."

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Chuck and Casey, dressed all in black and with NVG's perched on top of their heads, made their way around one edge of the compound. Staying in the shadows as much as possible, and hiding in shrubbery. Chuck didn't move with the stealth of Casey, but he was trying his best. The fact that each man was a few inches over six feet tall was not helping matters. There were numerous security cameras covering that area, but the cameras weren't an issue for them.

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In the van, Carina pointed and said, "There. They're on that camera's feed."

"I know. I got it," Sarah said, pressing a button. As she did so, Chuck and Casey disappeared from the monitor to be replaced by empty bushes.

"So, whoever Alahi has monitoring is now looking at the empty bushes?"

"Yeah. We're not worried about the cameras. The feed first comes here and only then goes to Alahi's security guys. With the BB-88's we put in yesterday, Chuck accessed the cameras and redirected all the feeds here. Then he locked anyone else out."

"So, what are you doing? Why monitor?" asked Carina.

"Unless a feed shows Chuck or Casey, it's forwarded to Alahi's men after a slight delay. If it does show Chuck or Casey, I splice in an empty image from earlier camera footage. It would have been simpler to just insert the empty image from the start, but not as effective. Think about it, Carina. In this way, we won't be tripped up by the cameras failing to show a changed image that was expected by the man at the monitors. If he sent his partner for a cup of coffee, for example, and the man never showed up on any of the feeds, they would know something was wrong."

"Oh..smart. Did you come up with that?"

"Nope, Chuck."

After a pause Carina said, "Does it help that they're wearing black? Hard to see?"

"Not as much as you'd think. The cameras are also infrared detectors so their black clothes aren't going to help, as their own body heat would show up on the camera's monitors."

"Well, so far so good."

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Casey and Chuck made it to the garage area, off to one side from the main house and paused. Casey looked into Chuck's eyes. Chuck was scared (which Casey thought prudent – Casey was a little scared himself), but steady (which Casey was pleased to see, even if it was expected). Casey clapped Chuck on the shoulder and they approached the door to the garage-like building. Casey took out a card key encoded with the number 13680 that Carina had decoded yesterday for the room displaying the fakes. There was a click as the door unlocked.

As Casey did that, Chuck took a shoebox sized gadget out of his backpack, turned it on and hid it in the bushes. From now on, all cellphones in the compound would malfunction. He had blinded the cameras, and now he made the compound deaf and mute.

With a glance at Chuck, Casey opened the door and stepped inside.

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"What now?" asked Carina as the men entered the building.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what are the boys up to now? I can't see them inside the building."

"There's a small anteroom and then a motion detector in the corridor. The motion detector can be deactivated with a retinal scan. As you neglected to bring out Alahi's eye, we can't deactivate it."

"So, what are they going to do?" asked Carina.

"This type of motion detector operates on infrared. An increase in infrared radiation within its zone of coverage will trigger an alarm. So, Chuck came up with a way to fool it. They're going to slowly cover it with an insulator..."

"An insulator? Why?"

"Infrared radiation is given off by heat...by hot objects. If they insulate..."

Carina interrupted, "Like if they wear some kind of thermal suit?"

Sarah continued, "No, if they insulate the sensor itself. Cover it so any infrared radiation won't get through. They are using half of a styrofoam clamshell box, like you'd use to keep a hamburger warm. If it can prevent the escape of infrared radiation around a hamburger, it can prevent the same radiation from getting to the sensor. The problem is, if they just clamp it on too fast, the change will set off the alarm. They have to do it slowly. That's the device Chuck built. They will let it do its thing. And, to make things just a little more challenging, there are light sensitive alarms in there, so they have to do it in the dark."

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Once the door was firmly closed behind them, they were in total blackness. Chuck reached into his backpack and took out the device he had fashioned to fool the motion sensor. By touch, he removed the backing from it and turned it on with the flip of a switch on the side. He tapped Casey on the arm and Casey opened the door to the main corridor. Chuck reached over to find the edge of the door frame using the same hand as was holding the device, ran that hand up to the top of the frame and across to almost the center of the doorway, all the while being very careful to keep his hand on his own side of the door. Once he held the device in the right position, his hand still inside the blind spot of the motion sensor, he stuck it in place on the wall next to the sensor with its adhesive backing. From his side of the door, using only his fingertips on the far side, he checked to make sure it was in the right position. Satisfied, he pulled his hand back and tapped Casey who closed the door. They turned on their NVG's so they could see each other and waited.

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"Hang on a second," said Carina, "why do they have to do that in the dark? I thought they had on night vision goggles."

"They do, but there are two kinds of those. One kind uses ambient light and amplifies it in the processor. If there was any ambient light in that corridor, the alarms would sound. The other kind uses infrared light and that's the kind they are using. Each of them has a strong infrared light to give them the illumination for the NVG's to work, almost like a spotlight or flashlight but invisible to the naked eye. But if that infrared light gets into the corridor before Chuck neutralizes the motion sensor, the alarms will sound and they are screwed. So, they neutralize the motion sensor first, then they can use the infrared lights and NVG's."

"Are they in by now? Has the motion sensor been blinded?"

"No. If they were to put the cover over it too quickly, it would register the change. Chuck hooked the cover to the minute hand on a clock. Over the course of fifteen minutes the cover will go from vertical to horizontal and cover the sensor. The movement is gradual enough that it won't register with the sensor. Then they will tape it in place. But by then they'll be able to see what they are doing through the NVG's."

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Casey peeled back the sleeve of his jacket and looked at his watch. They turned off their NVG's and reverted to blackness. He nodded to Chuck who opened the door and reached out to lightly touch the cover over the motion sensor. The sensor was completely covered by the styrofoam shell. Chuck tapped Casey that it was ok. They turned on their infrared lights and lowered their NVG's onto their eyes again. While Chuck held the cover in place, Casey taped it to the wall with strips of duct tape. Once it was done, Chuck removed his hand.

Together they moved down the corridor to the door of the vault and looked at the fingerprint scanner used to open the vault door. They didn't have Alahi's fingers any more than they had his retina.

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Carina said, "So, then what?"

"Then they have to get past the fingerprint scanner to open the vault door."

"And what genius thing did Chuck come up with for that?"

"Nothing too clever. You see there are two types of fingerprint scanners. Capacitance scanners which need an actual fingerprint to work. It registers the different electrical signatures of the ridges and valleys of the print. Chuck could have dummied up a gel mock-up of the prints, but it would have taken all last night. Luckily for us, Alahi bought the lower tech optical fingerprint scanner. That just needs a picture of the print to work."

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Chuck took a small slip of paper from his pocket. He placed it on the glass receptor of the fingerprint scanner and pressed down with the palm of his hand. As the optical scanner worked, it shined visible light onto the copy of Alahi's right thumb print. Chuck had covered the scanner with his palm to make sure no light bled through to trigger the photosensitive alarm. There was an unpleasant noise, as the scanner rejected the print. Chuck tried again with a copy of Alahi's right index finger. He had all ten prints from the man's visa application which he'd accessed through the Immigration and Naturalization Service files. Luckily, the index finger worked.

With a soft pop, the vault door unlocked. Casey pulled it back and open and they stepped into the room. Casey tapped Chuck on the arm and motioned to the right side of the room. Chuck nodded and began to look for the diamond along the right side as Casey looked on the left side.

It took a little more than three minutes until Casey tapped Chuck on the shoulder and showed him the diamond. Chuck grinned at him and offered a high five. Casey gestured towards the open door and left him hanging with the five. Chuck's grin faded. They closed the door to the vault, and made their way back through the corridor to the outside door.

Casey tapped twice at the earwig in his ear and heard Sarah say, "Right."

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"They're coming out. Go lower the ladder to the other side." She told Carina.

"Right." Carina left the van and ran to the spot on the wall she had previously occupied. She set up her ladder and climbed it with a second ladder in her hands. Reaching the top, she lowered the second ladder into Alahi's compound. A couple of minutes later Chuck and Casey came out of the shadows at the base of the wall. Casey climbed the ladder first.

Carina said, "Success?"

Casey showed her the diamond, the real one. She grinned.

From below, Chuck hissed at Casey. "I've got to go back. The cellphone jammer didn't autodestruct. I'll be right back." Chuck was right. An essential part of this mission was deniability. Alahi couldn't know that the government had stolen his diamond. If that particular piece of equipment was found intact, someone could trace it back to the NSA. If the government would have been authorized in stealing the diamond, they would have sent in an FBI squad to search the compound with a search warrant and avoided all this subterfuge.

"Stop. I'm going with you," Casey said in a whisper. He turned to Carina and said, "Here, take this. We'll be right back." He handed her the diamond and slid back down the ladder.

They disappeared from view as Carina ran back to the van. She found Sarah staring impatiently at the monitors. "Here's the diamond," said Carina, handing it over. Suddenly, all hell broke loose on the other side of the compound wall. An alarm sounded and spotlights snapped on. They heard shouting.

Sarah started flipping channels on her monitors, looking for the one that showed the problem. She saw Chuck and Casey near the jammer they had planted, with Alahi's security force swarming them. She saw Casey beat three men unconscious before a fourth knocked him down with a blow from behind. She saw Chuck fight one man and beat him, before a second man knocked him down. A tiny corner of her mind was proud of him and the hard work he had done over the last couple of months with her and Casey in learning how to fight. But a much larger part of her mind was swamped with an overwhelming need to go get him and God help anyone who got in her way.

The security force muscled Casey and Chuck away from the garage area and towards the main house.

She took out her phone and checked the signal. It was strong, meaning that Chuck and Casey had destroyed the jammer before being attacked. She entered Alahi's cell number (which they had from Chuck's research) into her phone, but didn't hit send. She put her phone in a pocket and reached for binoculars. Rising and moving to a weapons rack, she took down a high caliber rifle with a scope and attached a long silencer to it. She looked stone cold. There was no warmth whatsoever in her blue eyes, which suddenly resembled arctic sea ice. He movements with the weapon were practiced and efficient. Carina had seen this look before and it usually meant one or more bad guys wouldn't be walking on this earth much longer.

Carina asked, "Where are you going?"

Sarah said, "To negotiate. I have to get him back. Take the van and the diamond a couple of miles down the road. I'll call you."

" _Them_. You have to get _them_ back."

"That's what I said."

"Ummm. And the rifle? What's the rifle for?

Her voice was as cold as her eyes. "Punctuation."

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A/N2: If this were another medium, I would have Sarah and Carina's conversation as a voiceover while Chuck and Casey were breaking in to the vault and stealing the diamond. So, just imagine it that way, please.

A/N3: The methods I describe to get past Alahi's security systems (photo sensors, motion detectors, and fingerprint scanners) are sort of basic textbook methods and should really work, but he bought a cheap security system even then. And technology has advanced. So, the bottom line is, don't think these techniques will get you into your dad's liquor cabinet, because they won't.

A/N4: Not to bang this particular drum too often, but infrared sensitive NVG's were invented by Doc Savage almost 90 years ago.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Ownership of what?

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Dawn had arrived and the morning light suffused the compound. It was really a beautiful location. The modern white home was perched above the dark blue waves of the Pacific. The sun's early light made everything just a little softer. Sarah didn't notice though.

She climbed a tree on the edge of the compound. The rifle slung on her shoulder had make it an awkward climb, but she managed nevertheless. She had selected the tree well, as she had an excellent view of the entire east side of the compound from the high branch she had chosen and yet was well hidden by the foliage. She unslung her binoculars and used them to scan the house. There. There they were in the living room. The walls were almost entirely glass, so it wasn't hard to see the activity inside. In fact, the walls on both sides of the room were glass, and she could see the ocean clear through the room on the other side. She watched as Alahi's men frisked Chuck and Casey and emptied their bags, looking for the diamond. Not finding it, they were shoved into seats on the couch while Alahi began to harangue them, no doubt with threats about what would happen to them if they didn't tell him where the diamond was. A half dozen of his men stood around looking large and...well, large.

Fitting her bluetooth earphone into her ear, she pushed send on her phone, pre-loaded with Alahi's cellphone number. She watched him reach into the pocket of his bathrobe to find his ringing phone.

"Hello?" he said.

"Good morning, Peyman. Sorry to interrupt your sleep schedule." Her voice was pleasant and calm.

He paused, "Are these your men? These fake insurance men?"

"You get right down to business, don't you? No, good morning? How are you doing? You don't want to know my name or anything?"

"Alright. What's your name?"

She laughed and said, "I'm not telling you my name. What good would it do if I did? I'd just lie anyway."

"Ok, mystery woman. Answer me this, then. Do you have my diamond?"

"Well, technically it's my diamond now. Did you know, Peyman, that the diamond has never been bought or sold? Never. It's only changed hands as a result of theft, conquest or endowment. That's a crazy fact, isn't it? So, it's a little presumptuous of you to call it yours. But to answer your question, yes, I have the Nadan-I-Noor. How'd you catch my guys, by the way? I thought we had things pretty well in hand."

"You did. It was just bad luck for you and good luck for me. One of my men stepped outside for an early morning cigarette and saw your men. He alerted the rest of the force."

"You know, you should tell your guy smoking is hazardous to his health...tell him to read a paper once in a while...from the sixties."

"Amusing. But the fact remains that I have your men. Now I know you are going to tell me that you don't care about them and they give me no leverage over you, but the fact that you called me proves otherwise."

"Nope. I'm not going to say that at all. Those men are incredibly important to me. Incredibly important. I'm not going to bullshit you in the slightest about that. I want them back way more than I want the diamond. So, you and I, we will act like grown up business people. I return the diamond to you and you will release my guys."

"Just like that?"

"Yes," said Sarah. "Just like that. A straight exchange. Simple."

"Very well. Come in here now. Bring the diamond and you and your men can walk out after the exchange."

"Peyman...You may have an old-fashioned view of women...I don't know. But I'm going to give you a news flash here. You ready? Women are just as smart as men. Would you have made the same stupid suggestion if a man was calling you? Probably not. Think about it, Peyman. If I walk in there with anything less than a platoon of fully-armed Marines, I've given you both the diamond and one more captive. That would be incredibly stupid of me. We have to come up with a different plan for the exchange."

"So, what do you have in mind, mystery woman?"

"We pick a neutral site to do it. Someplace where neither of us will want gunfire. I don't want my guys shot. I don't even want your guys shot, if I can help it. A shootout in Los Angeles is a terrible idea for both of us."

"How about Chino Hills? The State Park there. There's an overlook. We can do the exchange there."

"Oh, come on. That's in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn't be afraid of a gunfight there. You weren't listening to me. I want someplace where we won't dare shoot each other...I know, The Chinese Theatre. Ten in the morning. It will be jammed with tourists. A nice safe place for both sides."

Alahi thought about it for a few moments and concluded it would work. "All right. Ten AM at the Chinese Theatre. Bring the diamond or you don't get your men returned. At least not in one piece."

"Right. It's a deal. I'll bring the diamond, Peyman. You bring my guys. But here's the thing, Peyman. And this is really true. I'm a bad thief. I'm just not good at it, as you can see. You want to know what my real skill set is? I mean my day job? When I'm not stealing diamonds ...trying to steal diamonds? I'm an assassin. Truly. I am...no bullshit. I kill people. And I'm really, really good at that. So, here's the thing, Peyman. I told you before those men are incredibly important to me. And they really are. I swear to you that anything that happens to them will also happen to you. Anything. I really need you to believe that, Peyman. I really do. Because it isn't bullshit. There is nowhere in the world you could hide from me and no amount of security that can protect you from me. I am going to bring you the diamond, Peyman. I am. But if you hurt them...if you double cross me..."

The glass wall along one side of the room exploded into sparkling crystalline shards as a heavy rifle slug came through it. On the wall behind Alahi was a painting of Alahi himself. In the painting he was standing with his fists on his hips head up and looking to the horizon. A brave heroic pose painted as if he had the torso of a superhero. The slug took out one of the eyes of man in the painting. Everyone in the room hit the floor. The second slug took out the other eye. There was no sound of gunfire, now that the glass had been broken there was just the whistle and thud of the slugs hitting the wall behind the painting. The next four slugs impacted in the crotch area of the painted Alahi.

Then there was silence. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the cowering men. Into the silence came Sarah's voice from the cellphone Alahi had dropped. "Peyman? Peyman?"

Still laying face down on the floor, he took the phone from the carpet and put it to his ear. She said, in a different voice, one that was stone cold and redolent with menace, "Don't try to screw me."

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Hollywood Boulevard is much longer than the limited section known to all of Los Angeles's tourists. The Walk of Fame, with its iconic stars embedded into the pavement is only fifteen blocks long, but draws thousands of tourists a day to walk along its length and view the stars at their feet dedicated to luminaries of the various entertainment industries.

In the midst of that hubbub was Grauman's Chinese Theater. First opened in 1927, it was dedicated as a Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Landmark in 1968. It was designed in a faux Chinese style with two tall coral red columns on either side of the entrance holding up a bronze roof. It is a working theater, with ongoing movies and, especially noteworthy, movie premiers.

It may be most famous, though, for the footprints and handprints of movies stars in the concrete of the building's forecourt. The forecourt itself is an oval area mostly enclosed by ten foot tall curved walls. Along one long edge of the oval is the entrance to the theatre itself and opposite that is the opening to Hollywood Boulevard. The memorialization in stone of the hand and footprints began in 1927 with Mary Pickford and continues to this day. One of the reasons Sarah had selected this spot for the handover was the tourist traffic. Every tourist who visited the Walk of Fame, on the sidewalk right outside the entrance to the Theatre, came in to the forecourt to view the footprints and handprints. The crowds would likely impart an element of safety.

At 9:30 in the morning, Sarah and Carina were already in the forecourt.

Earlier in the day, they had had a conversation about what Sarah proposed. Sarah had said to her, "I need to know that you are ok with this. We might lose the diamond to Alahi. I'm gambling with the stone. We might fail at our mission. I don't know. If you want, I'll go by myself so you can have deniability. I don't want you in trouble with the DEA, if you..."

"Stop it, Blondie. Just stop it," said Carina impatiently. "I'm with you. I'm going in to get Casey and Chuck back. Even if you weren't with me, I'd do it anyway. I couldn't give a rat's ass about that goddamn rock. I've never seen you happier and I'll be damned if I let that little shit Alahi screw that up. I'm with you one hundred percent, so just stop talking and let's do it."

Now each of them held a map of the prints on the ground. While it seemed they were merely wandering around to see the sights, they were in fact hyper aware of their surroundings and all the tourists next to them. If Alahi was smart, and they had no real evidence to support that assumption, he would have men here to recon the site just like Carina and Sarah were reconning the site before the meeting. They didn't see anyone likely to be with Alahi, though.

There was a typical collection of tourists. Young couples. Families with mis-behaving children. Retirees. Starstruck young people. Intermixed with them were a smattering of locals trying to sell something to the tourists. And police watching the assemblage and keeping an eye on things.

Sarah stood looking down at Jimmy Stewart's hand and footprints set in place in 1948, after he was already a war hero in addition to being a movie star. She remembered Chuck telling her about Stewart's war record and the fact that, by the time he left the Air Force Reserves in the 1960's, he was a Brigadier General, just like Beckman.

In her ear she heard Carina say, "Look alive." She glanced at her watch. It was 9:55. Alahi was right on time. His large black SUV pulled to the curb with a second identical one right behind it. Alahi's men began to get out. Two of his guards first, followed by Alahi himself. A chubby older man was with him. He crossed the threshold into the forecourt area and looked around. Two of his men stayed near the rear car, but the others disbursed around the oval area, intermingling with the tourists. There was no sign of Chuck or Casey.

Sarah waved at Alahi. He gave a curt nod in return. She approached him. "Where are my men?"

"Where's my diamond?"

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and showed him the stone in the palm of her hand. Closing her fist around it, she repeated, "Where are my men?"

Alahi nodded to his men standing by the cars. The back door to the car opened and Chuck and Casey stepped out onto the street, flanked by the two large men. They appeared unhurt. Their hands were bound in front of them, but covered with their jackets, so as to disguise the fact and avoid undue attention. Each of them held his backpack in front of him. She nodded to them and received nods in return. Inside, she felt a surge of relief and joy at seeing him...them, seeing them, she corrected herself.

Alahi pulled back his shirt, revealing a golden gun tucked into his waistband. "Don't try my patience, mystery woman. You may think you are dangerous, but I have some very dangerous friends myself."

She handed him the diamond and he immediately handed it to the chubby man next to him. The man turned his back on the crowd of tourists and put a jeweler's loupe into his eye. He began to examine the stone.

While he was doing that Sarah said, "Golden gun? Seriously? Have you seen too many James Bond movies or something? Do you realize how ridiculous that is? Just the weight of the weapon alone. How long can you keep it on target at full extension? No really, it's a real question. And gold is a soft metal, it's going to scratch really easy. Personally, I would be embarrassed to..." She realized she was channeling Chuck and his verbose approach to confrontation, but that realization didn't seem to bother her too much.

The jeweler turned back around and said to Alahi, "It's real. This is the Nadan-I-Noor."

Alahi took the stone back from the jeweler and dropped it into a pocket of his jacket. He gestured toward the cars and the large men standing near Chuck and Casey gave them light shoves in the direction of Sarah.

As they were making their way through the crowds of tourists, Carina made her presence known. She had held back with one hand on the butt of her weapon in case things hit the fan. Now that it looked as if the exchange had been made successfully, she came out of the crowd and approached Sarah and Alahi.

"Hi, Peyman," she looked miserable, as if she might cry at any moment.

"Carina?" Alahi was genuinely surprised. "You two are together? Well, I have to give you both credit for persistence. You steal the fake and come back the next night for the real one. Didn't work out too well, but good try, ladies."

"Peyman...I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I didn't..." Carina started to cry. Tears were streaming down her face and she was sobbing a little.

Sarah reached for her arm, "Carina..."

Carina shook off Sarah's arm. "Stop it...you don't understand...he's...Peyman is..."

She stepped forward and embraced Alahi, crying into his shoulder and saying, "I'm sorry, Peyman. It was work...I had to steal it...I'm sorry...Had I known what you were like I would never have signed up for this job...I didn't know, Peyman...I know you can never forgive me...I wrecked that...I'm sorry..."

Alahi was trying half-heartedly to get her off him, but she had wrapped both arms around his neck and was holding on tight, still crying and babbling about her regrets. Sarah stepped forward to help pry her arms off the man and the three of them scuffled around a little bit. Eventually, she said to one of the larger bodyguards, "Hey, a little help here, huh?"

Together Sarah and the bodyguard pulled Carina off Alahi. She disengaged saying to Sarah, "He's so good in bed...It was the best sex I ever had...You have no idea..."

Smiling a self-satisfied smirk, Alahi reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond, assuring himself it was still there. He said, "Goodbye, Carina." He turned to Sarah and said, "Learn this lesson. Do not attempt to interfere with me again. This time worked out peacefully, but the next time may not." With a serious nod, he motioned for his men to accompany him to the SUV's. They drove off.

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Sarah, Casey, Chuck and Carina were sitting in a booth in Mel's Drive In, a retro Fifties-style diner on North Highland Avenue, less than a block away from the Chinese Theatre. A gum chewing waitress, with a fake Hollywood smile, approached the table and said, "Coffee?"

"Yes," said Sarah. "Four coffees. And water please."

Chuck and Casey were quiet. The mission had failed and it had done so because Sarah had traded the diamond for them. Chuck felt guilty that he had been the cause their first mission failure, even though he couldn't think of what he should have done differently. He was sure Casey would tell him. But then Casey said, "There are trackers on those cars. Chuck and I put them on when we went in as the insurance guys. We put trackers on all the cars in the driveway. Our intel says he's handing over the diamond today. If we can interrupt the handoff, we can figure out a way to get the diamond back."

Chuck said, "Yeah, let me see if I can get them up." He took out his phone.

The waitress retuned with menus, four mugs of coffee, four empty glasses and a large plastic pitcher of water. She gave each of them a cup of coffee and put milk on the table. She was pouring out the water for each of them when Sarah said, "Could you please leave the pitcher of water? We're all thirsty."

"Sure, honey. No problem. I'll be back for your orders after you've had a chance to look at the menus."

"Thank you," said Sarah.

The woman left the water pitcher on the table. From her jacket pocket Sarah took the fake diamond Carina had stolen the day before and, with a tiny little smile, lowered it into the water of the pitcher. Looking at Chuck and Casey, she let it go. It sank through the water and hit the bottom of the pitcher with a small _click_.

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A/N2: I have a buddy who is a diamond dealer. He is skeptical that a fake diamond would float. Even so, I used that method for verifying the authenticity of a diamond in this story as I thought it was sort of cool and dramatic. My friend didn't have any fake diamonds in his offices to test, but I can tell you without any doubt that real diamonds sink.

A/N3: Anachronisms. I got in trouble on a previous chapter when I mentioned a landmark that hadn't yet been opened at the time my story is set, so I'm paying more attention to that now. I know Grauman's is now the TLC Chinese Theatre, but it wasn't at the time. Mel's Drive In was open then, however (but, my son gives it a poor review if you are thinking of eating there).


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Again, with the ownership of Chuck?

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Chuck, Casey and Sarah stood in Casey's apartment early that afternoon. On the TV screen in front of them were Beckman and Graham. The two Directors looked pleased.

"Your mission was to steal the diamond. You did that, but you also replaced it with a fake. That worked out very well, as it turned out," said Graham.

"It seems Alahi tried to pass the fake diamond off to his contacts. Several of his men were killed in a shoot-out with his terrorist friends soon after leaving the theatre. Alahi himself is missing. His credibility is done and his network will crumble. The Hezb-e Islami Gulbuddin will not be buying $26 million dollars worth of missiles. No diamond, no cash, no missiles. Well done, people. Well done," said Beckman.

"And the Administrator of the DEA personally asked us to thank you for your assistance in this mission. You have put a major dent into the opium network running out of Afghanistan," said Graham.

Casey said, "Agent Miller was a crucial member of this operation, Sir. We couldn't have done it without her."

"Thank you, Major. I'll make a note of that to her superiors," said Graham. "Once again, good job, Team." The screen went black as they disconnected.

Team Bartowski exchanged satisfied looks and smiles.

Sarah said, "Well, with Alahi out of the picture, we can send people back to his place to pick up the other sunken jet ski. Can you imagine if we forgot it was there? Somebody would stumble upon it and wonder what the hell had happened."

Casey glanced at his watch. "I'll take care of it. I think it was an NSA vehicle anyway. But, I gotta go now. I'm driving Carina to the airport. Can't have her miss her flight."

"Forgiven her for Prague, huh?" asked Sarah.

Casey grunted in reply and said, "She came through in the end. Didn't start out as a team player, but after she learned her lesson overnight with Alahi, she did ok."

"Expensive lesson," said Chuck.

"Damn right," said Sarah. "But her performance at the Chinese Theatre was Oscar quality."

"You did great there too. The CIA teaches pickpocketing skills?" asked Chuck.

Sarah laughed and said, "Oh, hell no. I taught them." At the strange look Chuck gave her she said, "Long story." Chuck didn't pursue the question.

The three of them stepped out into the courtyard to find Carina waiting by the fountain.

Carina said, "All good?"

"Flying colors," said Sarah. "Once again, Team Walker comes through."

"Team Walker? I don't know about that one," said Casey.

"How about ..." said Chuck.

"Don't start that again, Bartowski," said Casey.

"They actually love each other," said Sarah to Carina. Both Casey and Chuck made faces at that.

Carina said, with a glance at her watch, "Yeah. I can tell. Afraid it's time for me to go. I'll see you around, Blondie." She leaned forward to kiss Sarah on the cheek and pull her into a hug. Carina whispered in Sarah's ear, "And seriously, ok? Seriously...don't pick an ugly dress."

"What are you talking about? What dress?"

"For the bridesmaids. Don't pick an ugly dress."

Sarah looked at her friend with shock. She felt all the blood run to her face and yet felt cold at the same time. "That's not funny."

Carina said, with a tiny smile, "I wasn't joking, Blondie. I wasn't joking. Bye, Chuckles." She gave him a hug.

"Bye, Carina. See you around."

"See you. Take care of my friend, huh?"

Chuck put his arm around Sarah's shoulders and said, "I promise." He gave her a sort of goofy grin that made his nose crinkle.

Carina and Casey walked out of the courtyard together, heading for the Crown Vic.

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"How'd you do this afternoon?" asked Sarah.

"Great. Mrs. Prommer should be almost cleaned up by next weekend. Maybe the following weekend. It's tough to judge how much stuff is in the second bedroom. Maybe I'll get Casey to help me next time."

"He'd have done it today if he wasn't taking Carina to the airport."

"Yeah, bad timing. I probably can twist his arm for next time though."

"It's so nice of you to help her."

"She a sweet lady. She'll be happier living in Santa Barbara near her grandkids. It's good to be around family." Chuck laughed a little and said, "You know what Yuri told me when he was here? When he thought Casey was my brother? He said," Chuck changed his voice to mimic Yuri's deep Russian-accented growl and continued, "You live with your sister and next door to your brother, Chuck? You are a lucky man. Family is important."

"That man was a total surprise."

"Yeah, he was. Wonder when we'll hear from him?" Chuck asked.

"When he has something to tell us. Or when we have something to ask him. And it won't be 'we' hearing from him. It will be you. You're his handler."

"I am, but can a handler have training wheels? Cause I think I need training wheels. Or at least you and Casey holding my shoulders as I try to figure this out."

"We'll figure it out together. Don't worry." Sarah pushed aside her plate and said, "That was great. I can't believe how full I am. I'm going to have to go for an extra long run tomorrow. If I keep eating your cooking you're going to make me fat." Chuck had a limited repertoire of recipes, but was learning pretty fast and would soon be an excellent cook.

"You'd better have saved room for dessert. I have something special in mind for you tonight," said Chuck with a chuckle and a grin that hid something behind it, as he cleared the plates from the table and moved them into the kitchen.

Devon and Ellie were out all night on an overnight shift so they had the apartment to themselves. Chuck had cooked his chicken pepperoni for Sarah and made it a fancy night. Candles on the table, nice wine, nice music playing ("Wild Girl" by Matt Pond PA at the moment). It was lovely and romantic and just so sweet. She sat there contentedly sipping her wine and listening to the music.

She heard the click of a lighter and saw Chuck come to the table from the kitchen with a chocolate cake with a single lit candle. He began to sing, "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Sarah. Happy birthday to you."

She stared at him with confusion. "Chuck, it's not my birthday."

"I know...actually, I don't know...but, I think it would be really, really unlikely that it was your birthday." He was grinning that sweet Chuck grin of his that she just wanted to kiss off his face. "But, I missed your birthday last year...or this year...and, look, you don't have to tell me your birthday...I'm not fishing for information here, I know you don't like to talk about personal stuff and that's cool...but the way I figure it, if I celebrate your birthday sort of randomly, every once in a while, so long as I don't repeat days, after a few years I'll hit on your actual birthday. I only have 364 more days left to try. If you're a leap day baby, I have a problem, though," he said with a small laugh.

She was staring at him wide-eyed barely breathing. She was shocked...beyond shocked. She felt as if her brain had shut down.

He continued, "It's a blackout chocolate cake from Porto. I know how much you love cakes from Porto. Now come on and blow out the candle so I can give you your present."

She saw that the cake said, "Happy Birthday Sarah." She leaned forward and blew out the candle on auto pilot, but she never took her eyes from his.

He produced a gift from somewhere and put it in front of her. It was wrapped with Bugs Bunny wrapping paper and had the words "Happy Birthday Doc" repeated over and over again. Moving like a robot, her mind still spinning without traction on what was happening, she unwrapped and opened the first birthday present she'd had in years. It was a pair of twin throwing knives, about eight inches long, Damascus steel, clipped bowie-style blades and dimpled bone handles. They were beautiful and obviously hand made. She hefted one in her hand. It was perfectly balanced. She looked at him with amazement.

The last time she had a birthday...a birthday celebration...where she blew out candles on a cake or had someone sing to her...it was before she left home with her father. This was the first time in twenty years...twenty years...Oh, my God.

Her dad never remembered her birthday. With every new name, she had gotten a new birthday from her father - to make it harder for the authorities to connect her to prior identities. And none of those dates seemed to matter at all. Later, when she was an adult with the CIA, birthdays on missions had been alone in her hotel room or some safe house someplace. Even when she was with Bryce, he'd never shown any interest in learning when her birthday was. The one time they were together on her birthday, he never knew that that day was different from any of the other days surrounding it.

Twenty years...and this ...wonderful...kind...funny...loving man...just to make her happy...twenty years...Oh, my God.

She didn't even like her birthday. She had no happy memories attached to it. Nothing to latch onto. No warm feelings of the love from family and friends. Nothing...until right now...and it wasn't even really her birthday...Oh, my God.

She was overwhelmed by joy as huge as she'd ever felt, no, bigger than anything she'd ever felt. She was happier at that moment than ever before in her life and felt warm all over. How could this wonderful man do this to her...for her? Oh, my God.

She was still sitting there wide eyed and hadn't said anything, just staring at him. She started to cry. Seeing her tears Chuck got nervous, "Oh, God, Sarah. I hope I didn't screw up...I hope it's not like birthdays upset you...cause if..."

She was really crying hard now, actually sobbing. She smiled widely through the sobs and reached out to squeeze his hand and said, "No. No, Chuck. It's perfect. Everything's perfect...you're perfect. I'm the luckiest girl in the world, Chuck. This is wonderful. Thank you. Thank you so much. It's perfect. Thank you."

She should tell him. Tell him that this is the first birthday she's had in twenty years. Tell him that he's the most wonderful person in the world. The most wonderful person she could ever imagine being in the world. Tell him that she doesn't deserve him. Fuck...just tell him when her freaking birthday really is, for God's sake.

She was going to tell him her birthday, she absolutely was, but thought for just a moment of his plans for random surprise birthday celebrations for her. With a smile, she said to herself, I will tell him, just not yet. She started to laugh, while still crying.

She got up and moved to straddle him, sitting on his lap. She began to kiss him. Not just his lips, although those too, but his entire face, every square inch received a kiss. She was sobbing and laughing loudly the entire time, her tears wetting his face, hugging him and kissing him. She must have seemed an incoherent mess.

She knew she should tell him. Tell him what she was feeling. But she couldn't tell him. But Carina was right. This was serious. Holy shit, was it serious. This was as serious as she could ever imagine anything being. Ever.

"Who?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"Who what?" she asked still kissing him.

"Who is goddamn serious?" She looked at him startled for a second as she realized she must have been speaking her thoughts out loud.

"I am. I am seriously going to thank you for what you did tonight, you sweet, wonderful man." Still laughing, she got up from his lap and began to pull him into the bedroom, but stopped herself. "Bring the cake, though. I have an idea."

They ended up with chocolate on the sheets.

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A/N2: The birthday scene was entirely motivated by The (Mis)Education of Sarah Walker by Zettel. I cannot recommend that story highly enough. Zettel is one of the highest quality writers on this site. If you aren't reading it, you really should be. It's a fantastic, thought-provoking, and heartbreaking exploration of Sarah's psyche starting back in high school. Hey, Leipzig...suck it!

A/N3: Porto is a real bakery in Burbank. I was just there last month and had a delicious pastry and a great cup of coffee. The cakes looked pretty good too.

A/N4: Stay tuned as Team Bartowski (and some new friends) take on the White Dragon Triad run by a certain Mr. Ben Lo Pan.

A/N5: As usual, reviews, PM's, etc. are very, very welcome.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Ownership of Chuck is like the weather. Everyone talks about it, but no one does anything about it.

Welcome to the start of the fifth arc of New Day. Team Bartowski has taken on Andric, Zarnow, La Ciudad, and Alahi. It hasn't gone too poorly yet. They are about to be introduced to the White Dragon Triad of Los Angeles and its Mountain Master, Mr. Ben Lo Pan. Wish our friends haoyun (good luck).

And many thanks to everyone who is reading along, reviewing, PM'ing me, etc. It's the community aspect of this site that makes it fun.

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The Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles is a plain white building behind a white fence. If not for the guard booth to the left of the doors and other visible enhanced security equipment, it would look like a completely vanilla office building. Located on Shatto Place in the Koreatown neighborhood of Los Angeles, visa applications were the bulk of its traffic.

Lee Cho left the building and turned left towards West 4th Street. He felt good. He'd beaten Muan at one-on-one basketball on the blue painted basketball court adjacent to the Consulate. Now showered and invigorated, he was ready for his meeting with his confidential informant. He looked hard at the street, the cars, the pedestrians, even the parked cars. He knew his quarry was aware of his investigation and might be foolish enough to take steps to derail it, but he was confident that he'd taken the necessary precautions. In any event, this was Los Angeles in the United States of America. It was a fairly safe location from which to operate this kind of investigation. He'd participated in cases built in Africa or the Middle East. Those places could give you ulcers with worry for your own safety. Los Angeles? Not so much.

His phone rang in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he saw that it was Mei-Ling, his big sister.

"Hi, Sis," he answered the phone in English.

"Hi, little brother," she also spoke English. It was their custom to speak to each other in the language of one of their locations. As they each spoke six or seven languages with reasonable fluency, it gave them many choices. "What's new?"

"I just won a basketball game."

"An accomplishment?" she asked.

"No, not so much. My opponent spends all his time behind a desk."

"So do you. Or at least you should. It's safe behind a desk."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm fine. You get so paranoid, Sis."

"Occupational hazard. You know that." His sister worked for the Ministry of State Security. As a spy, she was paranoid all of the time.

"I do. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm just a diplomat. When it comes to the scary stuff, I can send in the Night Tigers or one of the other tough guy units. Hell, you go into scary stuff way more than I do. Maybe I should be worried about you."

"Don't worry about me. It's my job as your big sister to worry about you," she said.

"I have an idea. Let's both worry about the other, but not too much, ok? We're both gonna be just fine."

"Well, I can try," she grumbled. "I really called to remind you to call Auntie Pho. It's her..."

"Birthday...yes, I remembered. I'll call her tonight. I promise."

"Ok. Great. Love you."

"Love you. Bye."

He had reached his parked car in a nearby parking garage. It was a simple local car, bearing no marks at all indicating that it belonged to a consulate official. His meeting with his CI would be clandestine and was to be held in an out of the way location, so as not to draw any unwanted attention. The last thing he needed was for it to be discovered that he had a mole in the organization he was targeting.

With a last look around the garage, to make sure that there was no one watching, he drove out of the garage and into traffic. His destination was only about thirty minutes away, given LA traffic. He had allocated almost two hours to get there. He drove around the city for the additional time, one eye on the rearview mirror. He took note of the cars behind him (and in front of him) watching for patterns and repeats of appearances. He took random turns at the last minute. Pulled over and stopped without warning to let cars pass him. It was still daylight, so it was easier to identify cars. At night it was very difficult to perform such anti-surveillance drills, being able to only use headlight shapes and placement. He was certain that he was not being tailed.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Los Angeles Zoo, he found a spot far from the entrance where there were a number of open parking spots. He backed in to the spot, so he could keep an eye on all the cars coming and going from the lot. And waited. He was twenty minutes early and he spent the time watching the lot and its entrances.

At just the right minute he saw his CI's car drive through the entrance in front of him. So far so good. The car approached through the lot and slowed to turn into his lane. Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw a white van turn into the lot from the other entrance. Written on the side was the logo of the Bamboo Dragon. OH SHIT, he thought (but in Chinese). He immediately hit the car's horn and held it down, praying that his CI would understand the wave off signal.

The CI's car immediately accelerated again and headed for the exit of the lot. It passed the white van as the van turned into the lane where he was parked. He spent too much time watching his CI get away from the lot and not enough time starting his car and getting away himself. A part of his mind couldn't really believe he was in danger in the heart of Los Angeles. That part was proven wrong.

Just as his car began to pull out of the parking spot it was in, the white van pulled in front of him and blocked him from moving further forward. There was only a grass strip behind him, separating the lot from Western Heritage Way. He threw his car into reverse and jammed his foot down. The car bucked over the curb, scraping its underside, and ran solidly into a large dump truck from the Hanwa Construction Company that had pulled up behind him.

Several men exited the side of the white van in front of him. He locked the doors of the car. The windows were already closed. He took out his phone. The first number to come up was his sister's cell phone. One of the men from the van carried a sledgehammer. He hit the driver's side window near Cho's head. The window held.

The man drew back to hit it again, with more vigor. Cracks appeared in the window just as his sister answered. He overrode her greeting, and, speaking in Chinese, he said, "Mei-Ling. I'm being taken. White Dragon. Ben Lo Pan." The window shattered under the next blow and several strong hands reached through the window to snatch the phone from his grip. He heard his sister's screams as the phone was tossed away.

His door was opened and he was dragged from the car and towards the white van. A hood was yanked over his head and he felt the sting of a trank needle in his shoulder. His last thought before blackness overtook him was 'How did they find me here?'

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Ellie walked in to the wine bar across the street from the hospital and looked around for Sarah. Spotting her at a quiet table to the side, she made her way through the tables to meet her friend. The waitress was putting down a glass of white wine in front of Sarah as Ellie approached. Ellie gave Sarah a kiss on the cheek by way of greeting.

"Sorry I'm late," she said as she shrugged off her jacket and put it on the back of her chair.

"You're right on time. I was early. My shift burning hot dogs ended earlier than your shift saving lives," Sarah said with a smile.

The waitress asked for Ellie's order. "What are you drinking?" Ellie asked Sarah with a gesture to her glass.

"Grgich Chardonnay."

"Oh, yummy. I'll do the same," she said to the waitress.

"So, what's new, Ellie?" asked Sarah as the waitress left. "From the look on your face, I think you have news to share," Sarah said with a big smile, as Ellie settled down.

"Oh, I'm so glad you asked," she was almost giggling with happiness. "I don't know for sure and you can't tell Chuck, but I think Devon is going to pop the question."

"Oh my God, that's so great." Said Sarah, clapping her hands in front of her. "So, tell me, why do you think he's going to ask?"

"I saw him sneaking one of my rings back into my jewelry case. I figure he borrowed it to get a ring sized."

"That makes sense. Well done, Sherlock. I think that's just wonderful. You guys seem so happy."

"Well, I could be wrong, so I don't want to celebrate yet. That might be bad luck. But, I was just bursting to tell someone. Someone I knew could keep a secret."

"Thanks for trusting me. Your secret is safe. And you guys so belong together. You'll be great married. You're like the perfect couple," said Sarah.

"There's a lot of that going around lately," Ellie said with a grin.

"What?" asked Sarah.

"Perfect couples. Just like seeing you and Chuck together. You guys make me smile."

"Oh, God. Thanks, Ellie. We're doing great. It's only been a few months and it's all good. No problems on the horizon." Sarah's words were belayed by her body language. Her fingers had begun to fidget with the cocktail napkin in front of her. Her eyes were skittering everywhere in the room, except to look directly at Ellie.

"Sweetie, what's the matter? What are you worried about?" asked Ellie, suddenly concerned.

"Oh, never mind about me. Let's talk about your good news."

"No, come on...talk to me...what's up?"

"Well...I...It's just that...I'm sorry, I'm not good at this ….talking about my feelings. And you're the one with the good news."

"OK," said Ellie, putting a warm hand on Sarah's and giving her a reassuring smile.

"I'm confused. It's me. It's me that's confusing me. I'm ….I don't know...I guess...I'm trying to find my way. To figure out what's going on with me...and Chuck...us...I'm trying to figure out what's going on with us and me. God, that came out so screwed up."

"Can I guess that this is sort of new for you? What's going on with Chuck? A little different from your past relationships?" asked Ellie.

"Pppffffftt. Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes and blowing out a windy sigh. "Ya think? It seems like it's getting serious really fast and I'm...confused...and scared. He's so great...It's going really fast...at least, it is for me. From what I'm used to...actually, that's not true, not what I'm used to...I've never been here before...Totally uncharted territory for me...I've never...been in a relationship that's this serious...ever...let alone so quickly...it's all new to me and I'm kind of freaked out...And I'm talking about this with my boyfriend's sister," she started to laugh quietly "...That's _totally_ weird, right?"

"Ok, Sarah, first bit of advice. Take a deep breath and relax."

Continuing as if Ellie hadn't spoken, she said, "It's just that you and Devon are, well, the only successful couple I know."

"Just relax," said Ellie, giving her hand a little squeeze.

"How I will know if I'm in love, Ellie? I'm crazy about Chuck...like I've never been with anyone else...People keep telling me...How do you know if you're in love? How did you know you were in love with Devon? I mean, if it's not too personal."

"I can't tell you that, Sarah. I don't know the words to describe it. You seem to be caught up in what to call it. What to call your feelings. But, sweetie, labels don't matter really. Stop thinking about them...about labels. Is it love...lust...infatuation...the flu...whatever...Just feel it and don't worry about naming it. It is what it is. Who knows if what I feel for Devon is exactly what you feel for Chuck? And who cares? Does he make you happy?"

"Yeah, yeah, he does, Ellie. Happier..." she wore a dreamy smile and took a deep breath and let if out slowly, "happier than I've ever been in my whole life. And that says an awful lot, believe me. I'm not at all an easy person to make happy."

"So, what more do you need? Why does that feeling have to have a name? Just to satisfy the expectations of others? To hell with them."

Sarah laughed. "It's just that it's getting really serious really fast and I don't know what to do about it. And it scares the hell out of me, Ellie."

"Look, maybe you don't have any good role models for successful relationships, OK, I understand that. But...why do you have to do _anything_ about it? You just said you're happy. Happy isn't scary, it's just happy. Isn't that enough? Why keep thinking about it? Just sit back and enjoy what you have now. You have a guy who makes you happy. And I can tell you for sure that you make him happy. Why worry about labels or other people's expectations? The relationship is only a few month's old. Just relax. Stop analyzing everything. Don't let your head get in the way of your heart. Just relax. Enjoy and smile."

"A day at a time? Sounds like a part of a twelve step program."

"Why not? How much trouble can you get in that way?"

"I guess so," Sarah said with a smile.

"Totally, Sarah. It's simple. Stop analyzing. Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Stop labeling. Just relax and be happy. You deserve it."

"Ok...ok...I will...well, at least I'll try. Thanks, Ellie." She gave her friend a wide smile and reached over to hug her.

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"Well, we have to try the sizzling shrimp. Morgan swears the Bamboo Dragon makes the best sizzling shrimp in Chinatown."

"Ok. Good start," said Sarah. "And a veg? How about eggplant with garlic?"

"How about mu shu veg? I love the little pancakes."

"Ok, mu shu," she said.

"Something to start? Eggrolls?" he asked.

"How about dumplings?"

"Dumplings are good. How about both?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

"I swear you're going to get me.." she stopped mid-sentence as she saw him flash on something or someone in the restaurant. She waited for him to come back to her.

When he did, he said to her, "The waitress serving the table on the far left...under the window." When she nodded that she saw the woman he was directing her attention to, he continued, "Chinese Intelligence. Ministry of State Security. Her name is Mei-Ling Cho. She's never operated on US soil before."

"Any idea what she's doing here?" Sarah asked him. He shrugged and shook his head to show he didn't know. "Ok, we'd better get Casey on board," she said.

She reached for her watch. All three of them now wore earwigs all the time now that their watches had been upgraded to closed channel communication devices. By pressing one of the buttons on her watch, she would be heard by Casey. The other one, by Chuck. Both, by both. She pressed the both buttons (so the conversation with Casey would be heard by Chuck too) and spoke into the watch face. "Chuck just flashed on one of the waitresses here at the Bamboo Dragon. She is a Chinese Intelligence agent named Mei-Ling Cho. She's never before operated on US soil."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Right."

They watched as Cho took the order of a large party under the window. A balding slender man in a wheelchair, his white dressed nurse, a middle-aged man attending to him, and three burly bodyguards. All appeared to be Chinese and were, except the nurse, dressed in conservative business suits.

Sarah said, "I think that's Ben Lo Pan. Prominent businessman. He owns half of Chinatown."

"How do you know?"

"His picture is in the paper sometimes. The wheelchair makes him pretty recognizable," she said.

"Are you telling me I ought to read more than the comics?"

She grinned and said, "Nope. I'm telling you not to stray too far from me, Mr. Intersect."

"Never," he said with a look in his eyes that made her catch her breath just a little. She looked away so she could re-focus on the Chinese spy serving General Tso's chicken to Lo Pan.

A different waitress took their orders and brought their food. They kept an eye on Cho as she continued to serve the wheelchair-bound man and his entourage. Sarah and Chuck were impatient for Casey's arrival, as they lost sight of Cho every time she went back into the kitchen. They finished and paid for their meal quickly, but lingered over tea.

"I'm here," said Casey in both of their ears. "What's going on?"

"She's still waiting tables. Do you need one of us to cover the back door while you cover the front?" asked Chuck into his watch, but looking as if he were talking to Sarah.

"No need. The backdoor empties into an alley and onto North Grand from there. From where I am, I can see both the front entrance and the alley entrance. You two stay inside as long as you can."

"Right," said Sarah. She gave Casey a quick, but thorough, description of Cho, in case she was to leave by the back door while they were still at their table. Sipping their tea they watched as the man in the wheelchair and his group finished their dinner and collected themselves to leave.

"Limo just pulled up. What's happening?" asked Casey.

"Local bigwig is leaving with his party," said Chuck.

Keeping an eye on the door to the kitchen, Sarah thought she saw Cho pass a window in the door without her waitress jacket on.

"Casey, I'm coming out. I think Cho is leaving. Chuck, stay here in case I'm wrong. I can always come back in."

She left the restaurant onto North Grand and spotted Casey's Crown Vic. The wheelchair party was arranging themselves into the limo, the nurse in the white dress hovering over the bald older man Sarah thought was Lo Pan. Moving across the street to Casey, she kept a half an eye on the entrance to the alley over her right shoulder. She saw Cho in the alley entrance wearing motorcycle leathers and holding a helmet.

"Chuck, come out. She's on the move."

She got into the passenger seat of the Crown Vic and pointed out Cho to Casey. Cho was obviously interested in the limo and its occupants and watched them closely as they left. Chuck sat down in one of the rear seats of Casey's car just as Cho pulled out of the alley on her motorcycle, apparently following the limo.

"We're on," said Sarah.

"So how do we do this, guys?" asked Chuck. "What are the rules for following somebody?"

Casey chuckled. "What do you think, kid? There's a simple rule for this? Stay thirty yards back and you'll be good? Doesn't work that way. That's purely TV stuff. In real life it's way more nuanced. On a highway, you can stay way back and follow for hours. Right? No sharp turns or really steep grades on highways so you can keep a target in sight easily. City traffic is a bitch. Turns and stops and a shitload of other cars. You always run the risk of the target spotting the tail. Just like a pedestrian tail, done right, it's not a single car but a team in constant communication with the other members of the team. And tailing a bike like we are is even harder. She can slip between cars and go places we can't. We'll have to be lucky not to lose her or be spotted by her."

As he was talking, he was following Cho as she made her way through the Los Angeles streets. It was clear she was following the limo and its occupants, which made their task somewhat easier, as the limo wasn't pulling any anti-surveillance maneuvers.

The limo pulled to a stop in front of a quiet warehouse in Huntington Park. The street was empty of pedestrians and much car traffic. Two of the heavyset bodyguards got out with the middle aged man, leaving the wheelchair bound man, his nurse and one of the bodyguards in the limo. The three entered the warehouse. Cho had pulled her motorcycle up into the shadows about a block behind the stopped car, took off her helmet and opened her leather jacket. She took out and checked two pistols.

Chuck flashed on the guns as Casey said, "Dammit, she's armed. Those are QSZ-92's, semi-auto pistols. Used by the Chinese army."

"Actually, they are the suppressed version of that weapon. The QSW-06," said Chuck. Casey gave him a look and Chuck said apologetically, "Sorry. I flashed on them."

"Show off," Casey growled.

Sarah said, "Looks like she's after Lo Pan. We can't wait for the cops. Cho or Lo Pan might be dead. We'll have to stop her."

"Be good to take her alive. A Chinese spy will have a lot to say that we want to hear," said Casey.

They watched her stalk towards the limo from about a block behind Cho, two blocks from the limo. She moved slowly and deliberately, keeping as concealed as possible, no doubt worried about the driver catching sight of her through the mirrors. Chuck said, "Can you guys get the drop on her if I create a distraction?" Chuck saw the look on their faces and continued, "A really safe distraction. I won't do anything scary...I promise." Cho was getting closer to the limo.

Casey said, "Do it, kid," as he got out of the car silently.

Chuck got out and ran to the nearest street corner and disappeared from view, his long legs carrying him quickly out of sight. After a few moments, while Cho continued to make her way quietly to the back of the limo, Chuck showed up in front of the car. He looked disheveled and had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He knocked on the driver's side window and spoke to the driver for a few moments.

"What's he doing?" hissed Sarah to Casey.

"Asking for a light from the dashboard lighter," said Casey.

"He doesn't smoke," said Sarah, confused.

"I know that, but the driver doesn't. Chuck followed my advice to carry a pack of cigarettes. Always good for starting a conversation or lingering on a street corner. Just a handy prop to keep in your pocket."

While Chuck engaged the driver, Cho waited in place for him to leave the scene. Sarah and Casey silently slipped up behind her. Casey said, in a fierce hiss, "Freeze, Cho. Federal agents."

Cho exploded into action. She spun, her left foot connecting with Casey's gun hand and knocking his gun loose. As she continued the spin, her right foot launched her up into the air with a spinning roundhouse kick that caught Casey in the jaw and knocked him to the ground.

Just as her foot touched down to spin on Sarah, she was hit hard on the side of the head by the butt of Sarah's gun. She collapsed to the ground. Casey got up rubbing his jaw and collected his gun.

"She's no joke, Walker. Kicks hard."

"Let's get her into the car." Casey picked her up and carried her to the Crown Vic. Chuck lit his cigarette, ended his conversation with the driver with a thanks and sauntered away from the limo placidly smoking.

They restrained Cho with some of the gear Casey carried in the Crown Vic and waited for Chuck to rejoin them.

As Chuck was making his way back, they saw the three men from Lo Pan's party return from the warehouse. The two beefy men carried a bound body between them and, opening the trunk of the limo, deposited the bound man into the trunk. That wasn't good. Casey and Sarah looked at each other with confusion and alarm. What the hell was going on?

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A/N2: In reality the actual Triad in Los Angeles is called the Black Dragons. I renamed it 'White Dragon' so that they won't get pissed off and hunt me down. (I'm assuming one or more of their members reads Chuck fan fiction, because, well, doesn't everybody?) I'm also relying on the anonymity of this site to protect me from their wrath...and yours.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: I have to address the rumors that I own Chuck. Well, it's complicated. (How's that for a non-answer?) Naw, it's not really that complicated. I was just kidding. Rumors to the contrary, I don't own or even lease Chuck. It would be kind of cool if I did though, wouldn't it?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's none of our business," said Beckman.

"I don't understand. Why not, General?" asked Chuck.

"The Chinese have not made it an intelligence matter. It's in the hands of the LAPD and that's where it will stay," she said.

"So, what do we do with Cho?" asked Casey.

"Confiscate her weapons and turn her loose," said Graham. "It's a bad time for us to hold her in trade for one of ours and, other than illegally possessing the weapons, she didn't commit any crime for us to turn her over to law enforcement. It's her lucky day."

"Her lucky day? Maybe not so much, Director. Her brother is under a death sentence unless her country deals with Lo Pan and the White Dragon Triad...unless they give up the Triad captain they are holding in Hong Kong," said Chuck with obvious displeasure.

"China will not deal with hostage takers, any more than we would. And they will not mount a rescue effort on our soil. Cho's gone rogue. She should be gratified that we don't just turn her over to her own people. She'll be facing a serious reprimand from her bosses when she gets back to Beijing, at a minimum," said Beckman.

"But she's just trying to save her brother. How can she get in trouble for that? And we can help her. We stopped her from her rescue attempt. Don't we owe it to her to help her rescue her brother?" asked Chuck.

"It's not that simple, Chuck," said Graham. "The fact that we all sympathize with her doesn't give us the power to act officially. This world of ours is much more complicated than that. I'm sorry, I know this is difficult for you to accept, but our decision is final. No official action on this matter."

"Goodnight, Team," said Beckman and cut the connection.

"Well, that's it then," said Casey. He moved towards his back bedroom, where Mei-Ling Cho was restrained and, unbeknownst to her, waiting on the decision of their honchos in Washington.

"Hold on a second, Case," said Chuck. "Let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about, Moron. You heard them the same as I did. None of our business. We cut her loose and that's that."

"Case, we screwed up her rescue attempt," said Chuck. "We owe her our help."

"Our help to do what? Mount an unauthorized rescue attempt against Lo Pan and his whole freaking Triad? Bartowski, it doesn't work that way. We aren't vigilantes who can run around saving the world. This isn't one of your comic books, kid."

"I know that," said Chuck.

"And anyway, Chuck, our bosses have told us to drop it." said Sarah.

"No, they didn't, Sarah. They said it wasn't any of our business. They never told us to drop it. They told us there was nothing to be done officially. Officially." Chuck used air quotes to highlight the word. "I listened closely. Graham said we can't act officially. He said it twice. Well, I'm not suggesting we act officially. They didn't forbid us from helping her. They told us that the CIA and NSA were not going to officially help her. Ok, I hear that. I disagree, but ok. What about us, though? Not the organizations, not the Federal government, just us? Sarah Walker, John Casey and Chuck Bartowski. Why don't we help her? Unofficially. Not to toot our own horn, guys, but we are pretty damn good when we get started."

"You're splitting hairs, Chuck," said Sarah. "In the spy world you have to realize we can't save everybody."

"Sarah, I've been hearing that kind of thing my whole life. Can't save everybody. You know what that is? It's bunk. It's a cop out to stop you from saving anybody. It's just the same kind of thing that they say when a problem is too big for one person to fix, so nobody does anything and the problem just festers or grows. As individuals, we can and should try to fix big, intractable problems. And we can and should try to help Cho save her brother. We aren't trying to save everybody. Just him."

"Look, kid, she's a Chicom...an enemy agent. If she were to defect or something. we could consider..."

"That's a great idea, Casey. If she agrees to defect, we could help her," said Sarah.

Chuck said, with alarm, "Guys, no way. No way we do that. You would make her choose between her country or her brother? No way. That's a vicious choice to give someone. I don't want to do it. I want to help her, but not that way."

"Chuck, she's a rogue spy as it is. She might not have a country to go home to after she saves her brother," said Sarah.

"Maybe. I don't know. But, that would be up to her at the time. It's tomorrow's problem. We shouldn't force that kind of decision on her today," said Chuck. "What I do know, for absolute sure, is that she's right. Right now, what she's doing is right. She's doing everything she can to save her brother's life. Her government won't. I don't know if either of you have siblings...and I'm not asking...but you both know that if it were Ellie in trouble, you know I would do everything in my power to help her. Everything ...and to hell with the consequences. That's just what she's doing. And we should help her...unofficially, of course. We have the power to do something good, to help some people who could really use our help. What reasons are we going to give ourselves for not helping? If not for us, she might have saved her brother tonight. How would we feel if her brother was murdered by Lo Pan and we could have done something to stop it, but choose not to? I, for one, would feel really fucking terrible."

That hypothetical shook Sarah and Casey. They both looked away from Chuck and from each other. Eventually, Sarah caught Casey's eye and held his gaze for long moments. Finally, she said, "It couldn't hurt just to see what the Feds have on Lo Pan and the White Dragon Triad in the various databases. Just to look at the files. So long as it's unclassified, we could give her a download before we cut her loose. Help her on her way with some info."

"Yeah...I guess...and I was told to confiscate her weapons, so I have to do that. I wasn't told that I couldn't give her some new weapons to replace them, though. Untraceable ones. That might help her a bit," said Casey. He shook his head with a small smile and remembered that Chuck was the guy who convinced La Ciudad not to kill him. Man, he thought, I'm totally out of my league when Chuck starts talking.

With a huge smile, Chuck said, "Yes. This is great. I knew I could convince you guys. Awesome..."

"Can it, Bartowski. This is just to stop you from bitching and moaning all night. You'll keep Walker awake and she'll be grouchy over breakfast tomorrow. And I hate a grouchy Walker."

"Thanks, guys. We're doing the right thing here," said Chuck.

Casey grunted and walked over to the bedroom and opened the door. The restraints were sitting loose on the bed and the window was open, letting in a slight breeze. There was no sign of Mei-Ling Cho.

From the floor next to the door she said, "Thank you for what help you have agreed to provide me and my brother, Mr. Casey."

He looked down. She was sitting cross legged with her back to the wall by the door. She would have heard the entire conversation and had obviously waited for the result before deciding whether or not to go out the window and escape. Casey was relieved that they hadn't mentioned the Intersect.

"No mister. Just Casey." He stuck out his hand to help her up from the floor. She took his hand and rose easily and lightly to her feet.

"Sorry about the kick, just Casey."

He rubbed his jaw and said, with a small smile and a nod of appreciation, "It was a good kick." He led her back to the others. "Mei-Ling Cho, this is Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski."

She shook hands with each of them and said, "Thank you for agreeing to help me. I understand the risk you are all running."

"Happy to help, Ms. Cho," said Chuck.

"Please call me Mei-Ling."

"And you can call me Chuck. You want an icepack for your head? Maybe some painkillers?"

"Yes, please," she said.

As Chuck was moving to get them for her, he said, "Can I get you a cup of coffee too? Tea? I think we're going to be chatting a while. Although Casey is your host, I can make myself useful in the kitchen."

"Coffee, please. I have a peculiar taste for American coffee."

"Good choice. Casey has excellent coffee," said Chuck. He brought out painkillers, a glass of water and an icepack, then moved back into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee.

"Ok, Mei-Ling," said Sarah. "What can you tell us about your brother's kidnapping?"

"My brother is Lee Cho. He is my younger brother and our parents are dead, so Lee and I are very close. He is unmarried and we are the only immediate family each of us has. He's a diplomat and, currently, working with the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime. I don't know what his specific investigation is, though. What I do know is that moments before he was taken he called me and said 'White Dragon and Ben Lo Pan'. So, I can only conclude that whatever investigation he was running involved the Triad here in Los Angeles."

"We don't know anything about an investigation. The Triad has told your government that they are holding him to trade for a Triad captain held by them," said Sarah.

"That's nonsense. The Triad would never suggest some kind of trade like that. They would know we would never agree. And even if we did agree, once the trade was accomplished, Beijing would merely send me or someone like me to kill the Red Pole we had released. They would not permit that sort of thing to be successful. No, that's just a smoke screen. They took Lee for some other reason, no doubt having to do with whatever he's investigating."

"What's a Red Pole?" asked Chuck.

"Oh, sorry. A Red Pole is what the Triads call their enforcer captains. They also get the numerical designation of 426. Lo Pan, as the leader, the Mountain Master of this Triad, would have the designation of 489. A common soldier would be 491. Numerology is an important element for them."

"I'm sorry, Mei-Ling. Could we back up a second? What's a Triad? I mean, I know it's organized crime, but beyond that, I have no idea," said Chuck.

"The Triads got their start as secret fraternal order focused on politics, but were driven underground originally by the Qing Dynasty hundreds of years ago and more recently by the British in Hong Kong. The society fragmented and an element turned to crime. There are now dozens of Triads around the world participating in all manner of organized crime transnationally. Anywhere with a significant Chinese population will probably have a Triad presence. They are involved in everything from extortion, to human trafficking, drug dealing, counterfeiting, and fraud. You name it, they are likely to be involved in it."

"Ok, might Lee's UN counterparts know what he's investigating?" asked Sarah.

"Who cares?" said Casey. At the look he received from the others, he continued, "With respect, guys, does it really matter? Whether it's drugs or guns or whatever, the point is to get him out of Lo Pan's hands asap. His investigation is a distraction for us at the moment. He can pick it up again once he's free."

"Casey's right," said Sarah. "Our priority is to get him out of Lo Pan's hands. What do we know about Lo Pan?"

"I know he's the leader of the local Triad, the White Dragon Triad. Beyond that, I don't know much. I'm sure Beijing has a file, but I can't access it now. As you said before, I'm running a rogue op here."

Chuck brought a pot of coffee, four cups, milk and sugar to the table on a tray and said, "Well, give me a little time. I'll see what we have on our system." Taking a cup of coffee for himself, he moved over to Casey's computer and got started.

Sarah asked Mei-Ling, "What was your plan tonight? The plan we interrupted."

"I was going to kidnap Lo Pan and trade him for my brother. One of the Red Poles would certainly have traded for the Mountain Master. It would have been dishonorable for them to do otherwise."

"That might have worked. After we stopped you, we saw someone being put into the trunk of the limo. It was probably your brother."

"Do we know where the limo went?"

"No. We brought you here. The limo went on its way," said Casey.

"Traffic cams," said Chuck from Casey's computer. "Just give me a minute here." A few moments later, Chuck was tapping his fingers impatiently on the side of the desk. "Case, I have to get you a faster computer. This thing is ridiculous. I'm embarrassed for you. We sell much better than this at the Buy More."

"Government issue, Moron," said Casey.

"Ignore them. They actually love each other," said Sarah to Mei-Ling.

"That's the problem. The government awards contracts to the lowest bidder...wait...wait, for it...yup, I think the limo went straight to Lo Pan's house...well, compound...estate...Holy shit, this place is huge...any house in Beverly Hills that you can't see from the road..."

"You only think? You don't know where they went?" asked Casey.

"Well, I guess he could have gone to a neighbor's house. I last have it is on the cam for the street leading up to the house and it doesn't show up on the one after the house. Pretty good guess, I think."

"Makes sense," said Casey.

"Can you tell if they've moved Lee since then?" asked Sarah.

"They didn't take the limo past those cams again, that much I can say. Could they have switched him to a different car and taken him out that way? Yeah, I guess they could have."

"Doesn't make much sense to do that, though," said Casey.

"Nope, it doesn't," said Sarah.

"Well, if he's still there, I'll go get him. I know you can't give me back my weapons, Casey, but can you lend me a couple of pistols?"

"Mei-Ling, I know you want to go get him right away, but please slow down just a bit. Let's let Chuck do his thing. He's a bit of a wizard with a keyboard. Maybe he can get you some more useful information," said Sarah.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sarah, but, this is gonna take a while," said Chuck.

Sarah said, "Ok. Mei-Ling you should collect the bike you were riding tonight. And you probably have gear stashed someplace. Why don't I drive you to get your stuff? We can let Chuck work. Maybe he'll have something for us when we get back."

Mei-Ling agreed. The women left Chuck to work and Casey to watch Chuck work.

Two hours later, they were back. On the screen of Casey's TV, converted into a computer monitor by Chuck, was a floorplan of Lo Pan's estate.

"Ok, guys, what do we have?" asked Sarah.

Chuck began, "The FBI and the Justice Department, not to mention the LAPD, all suspect Lo Pan of involvement with the Triad, but have never had enough evidence to indict. He's got no arrest record at all. Not even a speeding ticket. For all they can prove, he's just a successful local business man with extensive assets and holdings in Chinatown, including the Bamboo Dragon restaurant. In addition to his estate, he has a compound on Catalina, a 50 foot yacht, a private jet, a home outside of Taipei, and an apartment in Hong Kong. Emigrated here from Taiwan with his family in the fifties. He's about 70 years old, with no family to speak of any more. Lost the use of his legs when the doctors removed a tumor from the base of his spine about fifteen years ago. Other than that, he appears to be in ok health. Doesn't seem to socialize except for business. Donates to local charities, especially Chinatown based, and to local politicians. The estate is where we should focus at the moment."

Using a laser pointer, Casey highlighted a particular room on the screen. "Your brother is most likely being held here. Near the center of the mansion."

"Why that room, Casey?" asked Mei-Ling.

"Interior. No windows. One door. But bigger than a closet. If you're right and the real reason for the snatch is his investigation, and they'll want to question him, you'll need more than just him in the room," Casey answered. Mei-Ling nodded her understanding, but looked pained at the mention of someone questioning her brother. Such questioning was unlikely to be polite.

Casey, Sarah and Mei-Ling spent some time studying the plan of the estate.

Casey said, "Getting in and getting to him is one thing. Getting out again is going to be the real trick. Lo Pan has a private army of security guards. When those alarms go, they are going to be on you like white on..."

"Thank you, Casey," Sarah interrupted. Chuck swallowed a laugh.

Mei-Ling asked, "Do we know where the guards might be stationed?"

"No, but if we go in overnight, the entire force will not be on duty. Lo Pan doesn't know you're coming for your brother, so he probably won't have his men on red alert. I mean, unless he's a commie, see, then _red_ alert means..."

"Casey, knock it off," said Sarah, as Mei-Ling grimaced.

"Just sayin'," said Casey with a small smirk.

"The good news is the security cameras are TKX-50's. Pretty outdated and configured for remote access," said Chuck.

"Can you access them?" asked Sarah.

"Not from the street. If someone can install a relay to the system, I can hack it from my laptop."

While the ladies were gone, Casey and Chuck had discussed the use of the BB-88 device, which had proven useful in controlling Alahi's cameras, but, as tonight's mission was entirely unofficial, they didn't have access to that equipment.

"Can you do a fake out on the cameras, like we did before?" asked Sarah, referring to a time delay on the images, allowing a looped image to be fed into the security system whenever an image of Mei-Ling would otherwise show up.

"No. I'd need a bank of monitors for that. I can't do that from just my laptop. I could feed in false images, though, and tell Mei-Ling what's around the next corner. It's not the best, but it's pretty damn good. Also, there's a central HVAC system..."

"What's HVAC?" asked Mei-Ling.

"Heat, ventilation and air-conditioning. Means there's one intake vent."

"Oh," said Sarah. "So, we can..."

"Exactly," said Casey.

"Ok. Thank you, my new friends. If you give me the electrical gadget to install for the cameras, I can do that on my way in. Then I can collect my brother and get out again."

"No. Even if you don't alert the guards and make it to him silently, your plan still sucks. There's a contingency you haven't covered," said Casey.

"What contingency?" asked Mei-Ling.

"What if he can't walk? We are working off the assumption that he's being questioned. We all know what that might be like. What if he can't walk? How do you deal with that?"

"He's my brother, Casey. I will carry him."

"And beat up ten guards while doing so? No, you won't. That's a dumb plan. That's why I'm going in with you. Unofficially, of course. If he can't walk, I can carry him."

"Casey, I don't want you to get in trouble. You have all given me enough support as it is."

"Well, too bad. I'm going with you."

"Casey," said Sarah, "That's a questionable decision. Mei-Ling is right. You can get in a lot of trouble."

"So? It's only questionable if only if I get caught. And anyway, I make dumb decisions all the time. It's one of my most charming characteristics."

Sarah sighed. "Alright then. Me too. I'm going in too," said Sarah. "I'm not about to let you be the only stupid one around here and I'm not going to let you carry this one off by yourself. You are my partner. If we are doing this, let's do it. The three of us will stand a much better chance than only one or two of us would."

"Thank you," said Mei-Ling with sincerity.

"I'll need about a half hour to assemble the relay for the cameras. It's about 2:30 in the morning now. When do you want to leave for Lo Pan's estate?" asked Chuck.

"Let's hit it around 4, so we'll leave here when you finish the relay," said Sarah.

"Ok," said Chuck. He got himself another cup of coffee and turned to an equipment chest in the corner of Casey's living room for the electrical odds and ends he needed.

Casey said, "Mei-Ling, you get to go home after you save your brother, but we have to stay here. If we go in with guns blazing on an unofficial mission, we're gonna be in some hot water afterwards. We ought to outfit ourselves with some non-lethal equipment, in case things get dicey we can handle it without leaving a trail of bodies in our wake."

"Makes sense, thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Casey. "No... seriously, don't mention it to anyone."

She smiled and said, "I understand."

Sarah asked, "Trank pistols?"

"Naw," said Casey, "I have the pistols, but I'm out of the darts and we can't go replenish them for this one."

"Ok," said Sarah with a small smile. "I'm sure we can make do with some miscellaneous stuff you have lying around."

A little more than a half hour later, fully equipped (or as fully equipped as they could be), they left to drive to Beverly Hills in the Crown Vic.

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A/N2: Thanks for following along, my friends. As usual, reviews and PM's are most welcome. Maybe some of you shy types out there who haven't reviewed before can drop me a line. I'd love to hear from you.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Ownership of Chuck is curious. Consider it for a moment. Ok, moment over.

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Casey easily scaled the wall around Lo Pan's estate and froze in the shrubbery on the other side. With his night vision goggles in place he scanned for the security cameras. He had to get past them without being seen in order to get to the control node and install Chuck's electronic relay to render those same cameras blind. Luckily, the cameras were designed to point and swivel to cover a swath of area. All he had to do was wait until the camera was pointed away from him and then run through the area of coverage while the camera was blind to that portion of the area. He hoped the designers hadn't timed the swings of the multiple cameras to eliminate blind spots. He watched the two cameras in front of him swivel back and forth for a few minutes and was happy to spot a three second blind spot. He waited for exactly the right moment and sprinted to the wall under the cameras. That area directly under the cameras would be consistently blind. So far, so good.

Following along the wall to a metal box set into the brick, he pulled on the handle of the small door to find it locked. He hated spending time picking an already open lock. That had happened to him enough times that he made it a habit to always check before getting started. He took out his lock pick and tension wrench and fifteen seconds later had the box open. The infrared flashlight on his chest illuminated the workings of the electronics through his NVG's. It took him a little over two minutes to install Chuck's relay. Another minute later and Chuck's voice came to his ear, "We're in, guys. Give me a second to start feeding in loops for each camera...ok...ok, this side of the building is blind to the cameras. Eyeballs still work though, guys, so heads up. Sarah, Mei-Ling, you're on." Casey smiled at that. Chuck was right. It was eyeballs that had messed them up at Alahi's compound the prior month.

The women vaulted over the wall with more grace than Casey had shown and made their way towards the house. Like Casey, they were dressed all in black and wearing vests and night vision googles. Like Casey, each had a large pouch on her hip, although Mei-Ling had one on each hip and Sarah wore a bulky backpack as well. Like a spider Sarah moved to immediately scale one wall to the roof of the mansion. Moving with catlike grace and silence across the roof, she opened the backpack, flipped a switch inside, assured herself that the status light was green, placed it by the air intake vent for the HVAC system and covered both the backpack and the intake with a heavy blanket she had taken from the backpack. She used weights she had taken from the backpack to hold the blanket edges down to the roof. She said, quietly, "It's set."

"Right," said Chuck. "Rendezvous with Casey and Mei-Ling at the south sliding door. They have it open. The cameras are already blind inside, I've fed them loops."

"Who's awake?" asked Casey.

"From what I can see, there's the guard watching the monitors, one patrolling the grounds outside and two hanging out in the kitchen. I can't tell if the monitor guy is armed, but the other two are. Why would you have a camera watching the guy watching the cameras? That's stupid. Doesn't he know what he's doing himself? Seriously..."

"Focus, Moron."

"Right, right..."

Sarah joined Casey and Mei-Ling and the three of them entered the mansion. All three had memorized the floorplan of the building.

Moments later, Chuck said, "Ok, you're approaching the kitchen."

Still using their NVGs, the three of them made their way through the house silently. Each had firearms with them, but none had drawn their weapon yet. If they could accomplish what they needed without a gunfight, so much the better.

Sarah had drawn from a loop on her belt a wooden police night stick, the kind with a perpendicular handle about a third of the way up the shaft, similar to the martial arts weapon known as a tonfa. She held it in front of her by the handle with the shorter butt end protruding beyond her fist and the longer length of the shaft running down along her forearm. Although somewhat awkward to carry around constantly, particularly in a patrol car, police officers have found this weapon to be among the most effective in their tool kit.

Both Mei-Ling and Casey wore black gloves, Mei-Ling's being particularly bulky. They moved in short shuffle steps with knees slightly bent. Their hands were held in front of them raised in a fighter's ready position, ready for anything.

As they approached the kitchen, which was dimly lit, they moved their NVG's to the top of their heads. Unaware, the two guards in the kitchen were chatting quietly in Chinese as their attackers approached. Casey gestured silently, indicating Mei-Ling and him. Mei-Ling and Sarah nodded. Casey looked at Mei-Ling and held out his black gloved fist. He raised a finger, then a second, then, emphatically, a third.

He and Mei-Ling leaped into the room. The men saw them instantly, but were too startled to mount much of a defense in time. Casey took the first man. Known as sap gloves, each of his leather gloves had six ounces of lead powder sewn into the knuckles, giving his normal strong punch the power of a sledgehammer. A straight left punch caught his unfortunate target in the gut, doubling him over to meet a solid rising right cross that knocked him unconscious immediately.

His companion tried to help by reaching out for Casey, but his arm was grabbed by Mei-Ling. The pressure plate in the palm of her glove made a connection and the charged electrodes along the fingers and palm instantly discharged. The man began to jerk and spasm as the 50,000 volt electric stun glove had the same effect on him as a powerful stun gun or a taser. After a moment, he collapsed. Casey and Mei-Ling nodded to each other and to Sarah. Casey bent to the insensate men and snapped their card keys off their belts. Only two more guards were left awake and only one of them was inside.

"Ok, Team. One left by the monitors," said Chuck in their ears.

The monitor room was not in the same direction as the room they assumed Lee was being held in, but they believed in caution. They didn't want to leave a guard awake inside the house. Sarah took the lead this time, entered the room without a sound and approached the man before the monitors with his back to the door. She swung the wooden stick on the pivot of the handle. The spinning end connected just below his ear. He slumped forward in front of the monitors without ever knowing there was someone behind him. Sarah took his card key as well.

The mansion now cleared of guards, at least awake guards, they made their way to the interior room they had pegged as the most likely room to be holding Lee. The first card key they tried worked and the door unlocked.

Mei-Ling went first. The room was dark, but from the hallway light spilling in, Mei-Ling saw her brother lying on a cot along the wall opposite the door. It was only a step or two across the room to him. She shook him gently and put a hand across his mouth to stifle any startled outcry (she had deactivated the stun gloves before opening the door). His eyes flew wide at her touch. She whispered to him in Chinese. He nodded once to show he understood the need for silence and then wrapped her in a quick hug.

Mei-Ling and her brother stepped into the hallway. He was clearly battered, with cuts on his face, but fully ambulatory. He nodded to Casey and Sarah and smiled lovingly at his sister. She motioned him in a direction. In Chinese he said, in a whisper, " _Do you know where Lo Pan sleeps_?"

" _Yes_ ," replied Mei-Ling, also in Chinese, " _You don't have to worry. It's all the way on the other side of the house._ " As she said that, she gestured in the direction of the master suite. Lee Cho took off down the hall in that direction.

" _What are you doing_?" she hissed. " _We have to get out of here._ "

" _Yes. But not alone, Mei-Ling. Not alone_ ," he said as he moved quickly and quietly down the hallway.

Mei-Ling looked at Casey and Sarah helplessly and grabbed for Lee's arm. Still moving in the direction of Lo Pan's suite he shook her off and said, " _I have a confidential informant inside the Triad. We have to get her out or she's dead. She sleeps in the room next to Lo Pan._ "

Mei-Ling said to Casey and Sarah, "Shit. I'm sorry. He wants to pull out his CI."

Casey growled in frustration and Sarah said, "Oh crap..."

"I know," said, Mei-Ling.

It had taken them less than a minute to arrive at the master suite. As Lee opened the door next to Lo Pan's room, the pretty young nurse sat up in bed, instantly awake. She grabbed her phone and immediately left her bed to silently join them. Barefoot, she didn't even bother to cover her short nightie with a robe. She was ready to go.

Chuck's voice came into their ears, "Dammit. The outside man is coming inside."

"Where?" asked Sarah. "We'll go the other way to get out."

"No, he's entering through the kitchen. He'll trigger an alarm the moment he sees your work there."

"Shit. Turn on the thing on the roof," said Casey.

"Right," said Chuck.

On the roof, an electronic switch was activated when it received a coded radio signal from Chuck. The switch triggered an M-18 smoke grenade, which, in turn, triggered an XM-58 grenade filled with CS gas (a variety of tear gas). That, then, triggered another smoke grenade, which triggered another CS gas grenade and so on. All in all, there were twenty of each type of grenade in the backpack pouring their noxious contents into the air intake vent of the HVAC system.

"It's working. Put on your masks," said Chuck.

Casey, Sarah and Mei-Ling all took out gas masks from the pouches on their hips and began to don them. Mei-Ling took out her extra one and handed it to Lee, who began to put it on the nurse. Mei-Ling grimaced at that, but didn't try to stop him.

"Give us four and then get in here, Chuck" said Casey.

"Right, four minutes. Be safe, guys," said Chuck.

There was a shout from the kitchen area and a shrill alarm began to sound throughout the estate.

Casey, Sarah, Mei-Ling, her brother and the nurse, silence no longer an issue, ran through the house to the kitchen. The man who had triggered the alarm was bending over the unconscious men and looked up in surprise as their party ran in. Sarah came at him with her stick swinging. The fast-moving end caught the man's gun and sent it flying. Her arm moved in a smooth graceful arc and the end of her stick, moving in a blur, swung back the other way and caught the man on the side of his head. He collapsed as if he'd been shot.

The vents along the floor were pouring out white smoke at a prodigious rate, creating billowing clouds already filling the large room with white smoke and tear gas. While Sarah was disposing of the guard, the nurse ran immediately to the sink, grabbing a dish towel along the way. She soaked the towel and handed it to Lee, the only one of them without a gas mask. He had begun to cough and cry as his eyes started to shut with pain. He put the wet towel to his face.

Almost a dozen Triad men were running into the kitchen and towards them through the smoke. The spies knew they had to make it through the Triad men to get to the outside and get away from the estate. Sarah grabbed Lee and the nurse and shoved them brusquely into position behind her and Casey and Mei-Ling. The three spies were back to back to back with Lee and the woman huddled in the center.

The men who attacked Casey were hit with a series of punishing blows. Just about each head shot put a man down for the count. Casey's leaden fists were not the only things dropping the Triad men before him, however. One man fell to an elbow strike and another to a knee under his chin.

Mei-Ling kicked, stunned and punched her way through those men in front of her. When she could grab an enemy, he went down from the stun. But the stun gloves she wore didn't slow her down from using her skills at king-fu to take care of other Triad men as necessary. The ones who were stunned into unconsciousness by her gloves might have been the lucky ones.

After a few moments the smoke was so thick that the fighters could barely see their opponents. Through the lenses of the masks they wore, it seemed that an arm, a fist, a knife, would just appear out of the smoke without a fighter behind it. They reacted by instinct and with maximum effectiveness.

Sarah's stick flew faster than the eye could follow in graceful, roughly circular patterns, a smooth, dangerous ballet of violence. Occasionally, she would use the long section of the stick along her forearm to block a blow coming at her, or the shorter section, protruding past her closed fist, to strike the midsection or jaw of a Triad man. Heads were a frequent target of the swinging weapon and unconscious men fell at her feet.

Although Casey fought like a bull, the women fought like graceful panthers.

None of the fighters could see very well through the smoke, but the defenders were terribly hampered by the CS gas, both being in pain and having a difficult time breathing as well. When the fighting ended there was a pile of bodies lying on the kitchen floor in front of the spies, but there had been no gunfire. Casey, Sarah and Mei-Ling gave quick glances at each other to make sure they were all ok. Grabbing Lee and the nurse, they ran for the front door to the estate.

Lee, more than the others, was relieved to get to the fresh air. Smoke and gas poured from the open front door behind them. As they watched, the Crown Vic, driving in reverse, crashed through the front gate of the estate. Its reinforced bumpers had made short work of the gate's locking mechanism.

The kid's right on time, thought Casey with approval.

Two Triad men, on the lawn with Lo Pan, drew weapons and aimed at the fleeing party. Casey drew his SIG Sauer and fired three rounds into the lawn at their feet. The men hastily took cover.

The car met them coming the other way as they were running down the long driveway towards it. Chuck said, "Someone call an Uber?" Everybody piled in somewhat haphazardly, and the car, now moving in forward gear, accelerated away from Lo Pan's estate back through the open gate leaving mayhem in its wake.

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Dawn was lighting the eastern sky . "Stop. Just stop moving, please," said Fen Han. She was wearing clothes borrowed from Mei-Ling and Sarah, who were both about her size.

"I'm fine," said Lee, as she was trying to put a small bandage on his forehead and he was trying to have another bite of his second three egg omelette.

"You're fine. You're great. Just stop moving so I can get this bandage on. Please, Lee," she said.

"Ok. Ok. I'm just trying to eat here," he said, but he paused to allow her to finish, although he did finish his second glass of scotch. Casey took the empty glass and moved to refill it.

Lee was sitting at Casey's table, eating eggs and drinking scotch and coffee (but not together, of course). He had introduced them to Fen Han. Given her solicitous attitude to Lee, both Sarah and Mei-Ling thought the pretty young nurse had romantic feelings for him, although the lady spies had not compared notes on the matter.

In the Crown Vic back to Echo Park, they had gotten Lee's story. After his capture, he had been taken to a deserted building somewhere then transferred only last night to the room at Lo Pan's estate. He had been severely beaten, but not yet tortured. He had been deprived of food, but not water, since being taken, hence his appetite for Casey's eggs. He had expected torture to arrive on his agenda sometime during the day, but Mei-Ling and her American friends had arrived in time to disrupt the Triad's plans in that regard. They wanted to know the identity of his CI. He wanted to know how they had known about the meeting in the zoo parking lot. None of those questions were to be answered now.

As the newly replenished glass of scotch was put in front of him, he said, "Thanks, Casey. Actually, thank you all. I know I've said it already, but I really can't thank you enough. I'm still not sure I understand why you helped my sister..."

"Yeah. I don't either, now that you mention it," said Casey.

"Case..." said Sarah.

"What?" he asked with innocence.

"...but you saved my life and Fen's too, probably," said Lee.

"You're very welcome," said Chuck. "Mei-Ling told us that you weren't really grabbed to trade for a White Dragon Red Pole held in Hong Kong. She thought that was bullshit. Why do you think you were grabbed?"

"She's right. I'm working right now with a division of the UN dealing with, among other things, human trafficking. It's a huge illegal business now. The Triads, all of them, are heavily involved. I was trying to collect evidence against the White Dragon Triad and Lo Pan. I'd run into a brick wall until I met Fen."

"How'd you get involved, Fen?" asked Mei-Ling.

"I'm born and raised here. I went to UCLA and got my nursing degree almost five years ago and went to work for a community health clinic in Koreatown, actually, pretty near the Chinese Consulate. Some of the clinic's patients were the girls, I'm deliberately calling them girls and not women, some of the girls from one of the local massage parlors. Chinese girls from small rural towns in the interior of China. From my parents, I speak Mandarin, so I was always asked to help them. They were prostitutes. There's no other word for it. Those massage parlors were...are...just fronts for brothels. Their pimps run the businesses, but also run their lives. The girls all live together in a crazy crowded apartment some place. Sleeping on the floor most nights. Some of the men will drive them to and from work in a van, so they are never out of sight. They get barely any money of their own. They are essentially in a form of slavery."

"Why do they do it?" asked Chuck, clearly disturbed by the story. "That's horrible."

"Mostly because they don't know any better. They're young. They are almost all uneducated and unworldly. The towns they come from are poor and lacking any realistic prospects..."

"That's communism for you," said Casey with a grimace.

"We have our fair share of problems, Casey, but we're working on this," said Lee. "My country's economic progress has been record-breaking and we are proud of it, but, and we will acknowledge this, it's difficult to extend prosperity to all of China. Our east coast and, say a hundred miles inland, is booming. Further inland, though, continues to lag. Many of the people we are talking about are from those areas – both men and women. The economy there is still bad and the poverty leads to desperation. Some of these people flee to our coastal cities, but some try to come to America. The trip itself is grueling. They'll sleep in the hold of the ship, not a stateroom or anything. Cots, or just blankets on the steel deck. Inadequate, spoiled food. Dirty water to drink. The men are beaten if they complain. The women are raped."

Sarah and Mei-Ling visibly blanched at Lee's description. Even Casey growled.

"Some of the women, the unlucky ones, will end up in the sex trade when they get here. The lucky ones, and the men, end up in sweat shops. Their illegal passage costs up to $35,000 American money. Of course, they don't have it, so they pay their entire life savings, say $5,000, up front, and the balance to be paid off over time from what they will earn in America. Needless to say, that period of indenture will last for years as the Triad, in this case we are talking Triad, uses them for their own purposes. The conditions they live under are horrible. The UN is working on the problem of human trafficking generally, but it's immense."

"It was the conditions of the women," Fen continued, "that got me involved. When I saw what they were going through, I decided I wanted to help. So, I infiltrated the Triad that was running these girls."

"Holy smoke, Fen. That's so brave," said Chuck, clearing Lee's breakfast plate. "You're really...well, brave."

"Chuck's right. As awful as the situation was...is...for those girls, it takes huge courage to do what you did, Fen," said Sarah, clearly impressed by the young woman.

"Thanks, guys. Anyway, I went to bars I knew were frequented by the Triad soldiers. When they learned I was a nurse, they started to ask me for medical advice. Eventually, I was offered a job at a Triad-run clinic. I thought I would be able to get some useful stuff for the cops there. Then...and I couldn't believe it, Lo Pan himself saw me in the clinic and wanted me as his personal nurse. Of course, I accepted. That was six months ago. I've been watching and listening from his shadow ever since. When a friend introduced me to Lee, I thought it was great...that the UN could use the information I had to shut down the pipeline bringing these girls from China."

Lee picked up the tale. "It's proven harder than we assumed. They are very compartmentalized. It's so frustrating. For example, we've worked with your government to stop the freighter Golden Voyage coming in from Hong Kong tomorrow. It's supposed to dock in Long Beach in the morning and we have a hell of a reception planned for them, thanks to Fen. We've tried this twice before, though, so I don't have high hopes. The problem is that before we can get the destination country's law enforcement or Coast Guard on board the ship, the Captain wipes the computer hard drive and destroys all the evidence linking the ship to the Triad. We end up stopping one ship, but not crippling the pipeline." He shrugged in resignation. "I have a plan to deal with it eventually, but it won't work yet. And anyway, doesn't apply to the Golden Voyage."

"Why not?" asked Mei-Ling. Sarah was nodding along with Mei-Ling as she heard the story.

"It'll take me a while to set it up. I want to work a man into a position of confidence aboard one of the transport ships. He can stop the Captain from destroying the evidence and preserve it for the authorities. It will be a long-term undercover job, but we should be able to do it with the right volunteer operative."

"What's involved with protecting the evidence, little brother?" asked Mei-Ling.

"Getting ahold of the hard drive from the ship's computer before it can be destroyed. I understand that much of the communication with the ship is by encrypted email. The emails have to be downloaded onto the hard drive so they can be run through the decryption software, otherwise we could just get them from the ISP's. If we can get that hard drive, we can decrypt it and have the evidence we need against the Triad," said Lee.

"So, you really just need someone to do a black bag job on the ship before it gets to port?" asked Mei-Ling. "Steal the hard drive before it gets destroyed?"

"Sis, what are you thinking?" asked Lee.

"Just want to know. I'm already rogue as far as Beijing is concerned. How hard would it be for me to get aboard the Golden Voyage tonight? Just sneak in and sneak out. Not a major war, just a little ninja stuff."

"We don't even know where it is now," said Lee. "All we know is that it's due to arrive in Long Beach tomorrow. The Pacific is a big place to go looking for a ship."

"Why can't we get the cooperation of the American authorities?" asked Fen.

"I don't know who to trust. Somebody told Lo Pan I was meeting you at the zoo. If there's a leak, then word would get back to the Triad," said Lee.

"Guys, the location of the ship isn't an issue," said Chuck from in front of Casey's computer. "It's freely available on the web. Here, let's look at Marine Traffic dot com. It shows ships at sea. Come here, Lee. Take a look...Ok, ten or so ships named Golden Voyage...but, only one coming in to LA. There it is, guys. There's the Golden Voyage. How many people are being transported?"

"Almost three hundred," said Fen.

"Sounds like a great possibility to cripple the Triad's human trafficking operations, if we could do it right," said Casey.

"So, Lee, just so I understand. You could use an operative or two to board the ship before tomorrow morning and secure the computer hard drive, so that it can be turned over to the Coast Guard or FBI when they raid the ship tomorrow? And that may help shut down the Triad's human trafficking pipeline? Ok. Sounds like fun," said Sarah. She turned to Mei-Ling and said, "You in?"

"Sounds like fun," Mei-Ling said with a grin.

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An hour later, after some serious planning, Chuck and Sarah had gone to his apartment to sleep for a few hours. Lee and Fen had taken Casey's second bedroom to get a few hours rest as well. Mei-Ling insisted that the couch was perfectly adequate for her as she was shoo'ing her brother and Fen into the other room.

Casey was in his bedroom and had just taken off his shirt when there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

It was Mei-Ling. Casey said, "I told you the couch sucked. I'll take it. I can sleep anywhere. You take my bed." He moved to head past her back to the living room, but she put her hand lightly on the large, flat muscles of his bare chest. With the other hand, she closed the door.

"You fight very well, just Casey," she said softly, standing a little inside his personal space and looking up at him. "I was very impressed at Lo Pan's place."

"Thanks. You too. I know you kick pretty hard." He smiled slightly and rubbed his jaw where she had clocked him the night before.

She put her hand lightly on his jaw where she'd kicked him and said, "Do you do anything else that well, just Casey?"

He smiled a small smile, and said in a low, somewhat husky voice, "Just about everything."

"Oh, good," said Mei-Ling and kissed him.

Sleep is overrated anyway, he thought.

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A/N2: The sap gloves are real and may even be legal where you live. The stun gloves aren't real. I found similar designs and a few DIY projects to make them, but couldn't find an actual, working, for-sale pair. However, I figure they require less of a suspension of disbelief than a computer in a guy's head.

A/N3: Ok, let's talk about the smoke/gas attack through the HVAC system. After 9-11 a number of commercial office buildings "hardened" access to the HVAC air intakes, worried that bad guys could feed a noxious gas of some kind into an otherwise sealed building, so this is a real thing. But...what I described wouldn't work. I could go into a long explanation of why not, dealing with CFM's (cubic feet per minute, the measure of the rate of airflow through an HVAC system), types of air filters, the relative proportion of particulate matter versus actual gas in both military smoke and CS gas, and other techy stuff like that (not to mention the Beverly Hills Fire Department, of course). If I did that, though, you guys would probably just roll your eyes and mumble, "there he goes again." So, just trust me on this one. What I described wouldn't work. Pretty cool, though, huh?

A/N4: Oh, and CS gas is way more debilitating than I've shown. The Triad guys would not have been able to fight.

A/N5: My description of the circumstances of the illegal immigrants is, so far as I know, accurate (though, of course, incomplete). I don't want to venture into politics here. It is neither the time nor the forum for that, but I do have to say that the traffickers, the people actually moving the illegal immigrants/refugees/migrants from one place to another, are often bad people taking vicious advantage of the truly desperate (whether walking them through the baking deserts of the American southwest, packing them into freighters across the oceans without adequate food or water, or, more recently, loading them onto deliberately unseaworthy boats in the Mediterranean). Whatever your feelings about illegal immigration, I think those parasites deserve our condemnation.

A/N6: That's a real maritime website Chuck found and it's pretty interesting to check out.

A/N7: Thanks for all the reviews, PM's and support. Keep it up. You guys rock.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: I love discussions about the ownership of Chuck. I love them so much, I insist on starting every chapter with one.

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Lee held the inflatable black rubber boat steady with just minimal power to the outboard motor. It took at least a little headway to avoid having the sea turn the boat parallel to the waves and swamp it. The swells were about four feet high, not huge, but significant enough for their little craft. They were running without lights and were dressed all in black; a dangerous practice, but rendering them invisible against the black water of the Pacific.

Chuck said, "Ok. I'm going to go over it one last time...don't give me that look, Sarah, you know I get nervous about this stuff...ok, once you and the rope are out we are committed to this spot...if the ship hits the rope and you are not too far back on the ship we are good...if it misses the rope entirely, we pick it up and try again a few miles further on...but...and this is the bad one, if somehow you find yourselves too far back on the ship and heading for the stern, you cut loose immediately...immediately...activate the scooters and get the hell away...if you are sucked into the propellers..."

"Chum," said Sarah with a grin. Both swimmers had water scooters harnessed to them to pull them away from the ship and its dangerous propellers. The scooters were the variety used by scuba divers, comprised of a battery power source, a propeller in a safety cage, and two handles for the swimmer/diver being towed to grasp. Each was roughly the size of a motorcycle engine. Chuck had made sure that all their electronic gear had fully charged batteries and emergency spares.

"Stop that. It's not funny. This is serious. Those scooters can only pull you away at three miles per hour. That's not a ton of speed, so make the decision quickly. If you're not sure, cut loose and get away. Better that we do this a few times to get it right than you take any unnecessary risks."

"We've got it, Chuck. Thanks," said Mei-Ling.

Chuck continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Now if you do have to run away from the ship, activate your infrared lights. Lee and I have NVG's to spot you. And Casey and Fen are in the chopper," Chuck gestured upwards, "as spotters with the same gear. The last thing we need, other than the propellers, is for you to be lost at night in the Pacific. This is a big fucking ocean. The infrared is a great back up to the trackers you're wearing. You also have the equipment if, God forbid, you are lost until daylight, both the dye packets and the diver's signal tubes. Ok, I know that we've got a ton of safety plans about what to do if the hook up with the ship fails, but it's scary and dangerous, so ...well, I worry." The dye packet would mark the surface of the water with a wide streak of green florescent dye and the signal tube was a four foot long bright orange tube which would be inflated and waved around to attract attention.

"Thanks, Chuck," said Sarah sweetly. "It's gonna be fine."

Operating at sea was complicated and dangerous. Not only were there more variables to go wrong, but when they did there was precious little margin for error. Sarah and Mei-Ling were going to board the Golden Voyage, but the other four members of that night's team were the more nervous. They had contingency plans for any number of scenarios.

"I hope so. Now, on the way out, once you have the hard drive, you get back in the water, move to the bow of the ship, cut yourselves loose and use the scooters to power away. Signal with the infrared beacons and Lee and I will come for you. That's the easy part, because you will be in control of your position relative to the ship. Ok?"

Both women acknowledged the instructions.

"Ok, Casey. All good up there?"

"We're good. The ship has not changed course or speed. You're in the right place for the first try. Let's get started." Through the radio they could hear the rhythmic thumping of the helicopter blades over his head.

"Right. Here we go," said Chuck.

Double checking his GPS location system on his phone, Chuck had Lee turn the boat ninety degrees and stop it. They weren't exactly parallel to the waves, but had to act fast at this point anyway or the waves would swamp into the small rubber boat.

Chuck and the women began to feed the rope out into the water while Lee held a straight course and moved the boat very slowly. The rope was fifty yards long (one hundred and fifty feet). Given that the ship was one hundred and forty-seven feet long, even if the rope connected only at the far end, it was unlikely that the other end would foul into the props. The black rope had black floats at either end and at ten-yard intervals. Each float also had a hockey puck sized incredibly strong rare earth magnet annexed to it. The plan was for the ship to run into the rope, laid out perpendicular to its line of travel, the magnets to attach to the hull, and Sarah and Mei-Ling, attached to the rope, to hitchhike on its journey. There were any number of things that could go wrong with the plan, but they thought they'd accounted for most of them.

Once the rope was laid into the water, Lee doubled back to the center of the rope and stopped. Mei-Ling gave her brother a hug and slipped overboard. Sarah gave Chuck a quick, but fervent kiss.

He said, "Be safe."

"Don't worry. We'll be ok."

"You'd better," he said with a slight grin.

Sarah slipped overboard and gave a small gasp as she entered the cold water. A wetsuit worked by allowing the cold water to come into contact with the skin. Kept in place by the black neoprene suit, the thin layer of water warmed to body temperature and thereafter kept the wearer at a comfortable temperature, but the initial shock of hitting the cold water was just as cold as it would be without protection.

She and Mei-Ling clipped themselves to the rope. Then they clipped themselves to each other with a ten-foot length of rope. If something happened, they wouldn't be separated from each other, but the ten-foot length wouldn't impede their movement or activity. Chuck handed each of them a bulky bag of gear, which they also clipped to themselves.

Each woman wore a black wetsuit, complete with hood, a dive mask and snorkel, and swim fins. In addition, each had a life vest for buoyancy, although the wetsuit itself had a great deal of inherent buoyancy.

Chuck said, "Comm check."

In his ear he heard Sarah and Mei-Ling say, "Check."

"Ok," he said. "Casey, they are deployed. What's the story with the ship?"

"About two miles from you. You should see its lights by now. Time for you and Lee to get the hell out of Dodge," he said.

"Right. Good luck, Sarah, Mei-Ling," said Chuck. The women waved in response. Lee turned the boat and headed out to sea. They would stay just outside visual range of the ship's crew, but otherwise as close as possible to Sarah and Mei-Ling.

The women bobbed in the cold water, only now beginning to warm up.

With their masks down and snorkels in their mouths only their eyes and the tops of their heads were above the water line. For all intents and purposes, they were invisible. They waited for the arrival of the Golden Voyage.

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Casey sat in the pilot's seat of the Bell 206 helicopter and peered anxiously down at the black ocean water. He saw the lights of the Golden Voyage approaching the spot Chuck and Lee had vacated, leaving Sarah and Mei-Ling afloat in the night. Flying at night could be a disconcerting experience. Over water everything they could see was all black, but for the occasional ship. To one side the lights of Los Angeles formed a sparkling sea stretching away to the east and contrasting sharply with the black Pacific.

He looked over to Fen in the co-pilot's seat. She was using binoculars to try to keep an eye on Sarah and Mei-Ling in the water below, an almost impossible task at night.

He peeled off towards the beach. He didn't want to be hovering too close the ship and draw attention to himself. It was almost four AM and, with luck, most of the crew was asleep, but Casey was a cautious man.

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Suddenly, the ship loomed out of the night, impossibly huge to the two women in the water and moving dangerously fast towards them. Each woman held the handle of her scooter with one hand, its motor running, but no gears engaged. If they had a problem, they would disengage from the line with the floats and magnets and put the scooters in gear. They would head away from the ship as quickly as the scooters and their frantic kicking would take them.

Like a parachutist mentally rehearsing all that could go wrong with a jump over and over again and then being pleasantly surprised when the chute actually opens without drama, the women were relieved when the Golden Voyage hit the floating rope about a third of its way along. They were swung towards the hull of the ship as the magnets attached. As they hit the hull with a thump, the clatter of their gear sounded tremendously loud to them, but in reality the noise was swallowed by the sounds of the ship's passage through the surf.

Sarah said, "We're on. No problem."

"Excellent," said Chuck. "Let us know when you reach the deck."

"Right." They were pulled hard to the hull and against the ropes connecting them. The ship wasn't moving too fast as these things go, but the women spies were being dragged through the ocean waves at around 20 knots. If the weather had been anything more than calm, they would have been heavily battered. Even as it was, moving was very challenging. They were happy that all their equipment was connected to them, or it would have been ripped from their hands by the force of the water moving past them.

Moving slowly and carefully, so as not to make any mistakes, the women turned off their scooters and connected them to the magnet rope for later retrieval and use.

Sarah opened her gear bag and removed the climbing devices Casey had obtained for them. Connecting them by their magnets to the ship's hull above the waterline, she held the now empty bag open for Mei-Ling. Mei-Ling took off her snorkel and mask, wetsuit hoodie, fins and buoyancy vest and stowed them in the bag. Then, she repeated Sarah's actions with her own bag and Sarah stowed her swim gear in it. The women were now free of most of their gear, wearing only the harnesses connecting them to the ropes and festooned with smaller gear pouches.

With nods to each other, they reached for and began to don the climbing gear. Sarah leaned back and raised one foot. Mei-Ling detached one of the magnetic boots from the hull and moved to attach it to Sarah's foot, still in the wetsuit bootie. The climbing boot was a heavy metal arrangement with fittings similar to those shoe attachments on a snow board, but with a large flat magnet rising straight up from the toe, parallel with the front of the shin. By moving the foot in a certain way, the wearer could engage the magnet with the metal surface or disengage the same. Mei-Ling repeated the process with Sarah's other foot. It wasn't easy to accomplish with the water sweeping past them at 20 knots, but they managed it. Then Sarah did the same for Mei-Ling's feet.

Once done, the women turned to face the hull of the Golden Voyage and engaged the magnets on their boots. Next they reached for the gauntlets which matched the boots. Slipping their arms through the forearm guides, they disengaged the magnets to move the handles to the right positions for climbing. The gear was heavy, weighing in at almost 25 pounds for each of them, but solid and effective. They paused.

Sarah said, "Good?"

Mei-Ling nodded.

They unclipped from the magnet rope and began to climb. It was slow and laborious, but not scary. Move the lever and disengage the magnet. Move the boot or gauntlet up. Engage the magnet and pull or push your body up to the device. Repeat. They moved slowly up the hull towards the deck still connected to each other by the ten feet of safety rope. It took about fifteen minutes for the climb to be completed. The side of the hull was dirty and rusty, but the magnets held.

As they had climbed, the water had drained from their wetsuits, leaving them in the formfitting black neoprene; warm enough, but slightly damp.

Near the railing of the deck they stopped to listen. They heard no sounds of activity on the ship.

"Casey," said Sarah in a whisper. "You see anything on deck?"

"Negative, Walker. Looks quiet from here."

"Right. We're going over the rail."

The women disconnected themselves from the safety rope connecting them and from the climbing gear, leaving the rope attached to the gear still magnetized to the side of the ship. With a quick nod to each other they smoothly and silently slipped over the rail and were on the deck of the Golden Voyage.

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Chuck said to Lee, "Ok, here we go."

"How sure are you that you are right about the location of the computer room?" asked Lee, for probably the tenth time that night.

"About sixty percent. It makes the most sense to be near the equipment on the bridge and the ship's radio, but far enough back to be almost off-site to the bridge in the case of a real failure. The room with the extra cooling fits that description and is a good guess. They are some pretty impressive ladies, Lee. If that's not the room, they'll find the right one."

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It was that room. They had made their way to an upper deck and somewhat forward to the room Chuck had thought most likely to contain the computer hard drive. They had heard a great deal of activity on the ship, very surprising at this late (or was it early?) hour, but had seen no crewmembers on the deck. Their success in finding the room unseen was due more to the emptiness of the decks than to their not inconsiderate skills at concealment and stealth.

The room was unlocked and unoccupied. They entered and, seeing no windows, turned on the overhead light. Off to one side stood their target, the computer system for the ship.

In their ears, they head Casey say, "Mei-Ling, Sarah, what's going on? All the lights on the deck just turned on. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, Casey. We're ok. We're at the hard drive right now. Can you tell what's happening?" asked Sarah.

She and Mei-Ling moved some equipment aside to access the tower containing the hard drive.

"Other than the lights, I don't' see any activity at all. No crew or passengers. Nothing."

Chuck said, "If you were blown, they'd have crewmembers on deck looking for you. Maybe this has nothing to do with you?"

"Hell of a coincidence, kid. Sarah, Mei-Ling, your call. You want to abort the mission and get out?"

The women glanced at each other as they turned the tower around to access the back. As they both removed screwdrivers from waterproof pouches on their harnesses, Sarah said, "Negative, Casey. We're just getting the hard drive now. Only another few minutes, then we're out of here."

"Right. Fen and I will hover nearby."

They began to work in tandem unscrewing the back panel on the computer tower. In a few moments it was open.

They were jostled to the side as the ship turned hard. Sarah said, "Casey, what the hell was that?"

"Dunno, Walker. You're turning around for some reason...no...not turning around...the turn is straightening out...What the hell? You're heading straight to the beach...what the fuck?"

"What's on the beach, Casey?" asked Mei-Ling.

"Hold on...Fen, focus on the beach..."

Fen's voice came over the communications net, obviously excited, "Trucks...there are trucks parked near the beach..."

"But there's no dock," said Chuck.

"Ta ma de bastards," said Mei-Ling, not a polite phrase in Mandarin. "They know we are on to them...the authorities...when Fen and Lee escaped...They know we are going to raid the ship at the port. They are trying to get the cargo off..."

"But, Mei-Ling. There's no dock there. Casey, see any small boats? Between the ship and the beach?" asked Chuck.

A pause, then, "No. Nothing but water."

Mei-Ling said, "They don't care..." She and Sarah had finished removing the hard drive from the tower. She put it into a waterproof bag and secured it to her harness.

Fen said, "Oh, God. Oh, God. They are coming up on deck from the hold. Hundreds of people are coming up on deck. Oh, shit."

"They don't care. They are going to throw them overboard and the strong ones will make it to shore. Dammit," swore Mei-Ling.

"Lee and I will get there as soon as we can," said Chuck.

The ship ran aground. Sarah and Mei-Ling were knocked off their feet to the deck of the ship. As they climbed to their feet, an announcement was made over the ship's PA system in Chinese. Mei-Ling said, "They are telling them to jump. Jump into the water and make it to shore."

"We have to stop them," said Sarah. "Come on."

The women ran out of the computer room and slid down the stair railings to the main deck. They immediately encountered five crewmen. The two women spies attacked the five men like bee-stung wildcats. Within moments, all five lay unconscious on the deck. They heard splashes as dozens of people jumped into the cold water.

Running towards the bow of the ship, Mei-Ling started to shout in Mandarin, telling people to stay onboard. Not to jump. They were about 300 yards from shore and the surf looked high.

A couple of crewmembers ran at Mei-Ling, to stop her. Sarah kicked one in the stomach and the other in the head. As the first one was getting to his feet her knee caught him under the chin and he went down. Mei-Ling continued to shout. She switched to Cantonese and tried again. Dozens more people, men and women, went overboard anyway. There were shouts. Soon there were screams from the people in the water.

Sarah shouted into their communications net, "Chuck, where are you? We have people in the water."

"We're still a few minutes out."

"We're heading to the beach," said Casey from the chopper.

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Fen said, "Oh, God. Casey, people will die. The water is too cold and rough. They are hundreds of yards from shore. This is murder...oh, God."

"We'll do what we can, Fen. Use your cell phone. Get the police...the Coast Guard...whatever...get us some help on that goddamn beach..."

She took out her cell phone, got 911 on the line, and began to describe what was happening. Meanwhile, Casey overflew the beach looking for a place to land. A few hundred yards inland he found a golf course and put the chopper down. He and Fen got out of the aircraft and ran towards the beach, Fen still on the phone.

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Chuck and Lee swung the boat around one side of the grounded ship and saw six or seven people leap overboard while they watched. There must have been over a hundred men and women already in the cold water, most of them lugging their luggage.

Chuck said, "We're here, Sarah. What do you want us to do?"

Sarah said, "I have no fucking idea, Chuck. Just try to help." She sounded more than a little frantic.

Chuck said to Lee, "Any ideas?"

His eyes wide with something like panic, Lee said, "I don't know...I mean...I..."

"Right," said Chuck. "Ok. We only have a limited amount of space on this boat. We can't pick up everybody. Look for people in trouble...people who can't make it to shore...we go for them." Chuck looked around and saw someone thrashing and making no forward progress while trying to hold on to a bag. He pointed. "Head there. Let's get that guy."

They approached the man. Lee called out to him in Chinese and Chuck reached for him, pushing he bag aside. The man screamed at Chuck in Chinese. Chuck said, "Lee, tell him to leave the bag. We can pick up more people if we leave the bags. Tell him." Chuck tried again, pushing the bag aside to help bring the struggling man onto the inflatable boat. Lee yelled to the man.

With strength bred in panic, the man hit Chuck on the side of his head and began to back away. Lee said, "Chuck, that bag contains everything he owns. Everything in his life is in that bag."

"Shit..ok, tell him we get it...tell him we'll bring his bag too...shit."

With that assurance, the man clambered into the boat. Two other men saw the boat and swam towards it, but Chuck directed Lee away from them and towards another man who was struggling to stay afloat. They dragged him and his bag onto the boat. With another three swimmers rescued, they pulled to the side of the struggling, screaming mass of people and made their way to the beach.

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"Fen, head to the beach. See if you can help any of them," he said.

Casey himself ran directly towards the trucks. Police sirens howled in the distance. He found four or five Chinese men bunched together smoking cigarettes and chatting while they watched the people pour into the water from the grounded ship. Although he didn't understand their words, it was clear that they were enjoying the spectacle. Fury gripped him. Some of those people might very well drown out there and these assholes were having fun watching it. He reached out from the darkness and grabbed two of them by their heads, smashing their heads into each other with a dull _thunk_ sound. They fell to the ground. One of the other men lunged at Casey, who stepped aside and rammed him face first into the side of the truck.

The other two ran away as the sirens approached. Casey stalked forward looking for anyone else with the trucks. He spotted the middle-aged man who had been with Lo Pan at dinner at the Bamboo Dragon. The man had his back to Casey and was looking at his phone. Casey, moving as silently as a ghost, got himself within arms-length of the man, reached out and snatched the phone from the man's hands. As he looked up in surprise, Casey grabbed him by the chin and slammed his head into the door of the truck behind him.

Before dropping the phone in his pocket Casey glanced at the screen. The man had just sent a text message to a group of recipients.

 **489-VNY/HDH/HUN. 0800.**

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Aboard the ship, Mei-Ling said to Sarah, "They are panicked. They see America right over there. Desperate, scared people. Goddammit."

As she turned to try to convince a young woman not to venture into the cold water, a crew member leaped at both women spies with a club raised high. He brought the club down to strike Mei-Ling, but Sarah caught his wrist in both her hands. She twisted, locking the man's arm straight, then dropped to one knee. His forward momentum carried him onward and he somersaulted through the air to land heavily on the steel deck. Without interrupting her conversation with the young woman, Mei-Ling kicked the man in the head, knocking him out. The woman said something to Mei-Ling, who turned to Sarah and said, "This bastard raped her a week ago."

"Oh," said Sarah, as Mei-Ling kicked the unconscious man in the testicles very hard.

While she was occupied with that, the young woman slipped over the side and into the water.

Sarah watched as a young man calmly stripped to his underwear, put his clothes into a plastic garbage bag, sealed it carefully and jumped into the Pacific with his makeshift luggage.

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Chuck and Lee headed back out with their boat. They swung wide, so as to make their way all the way out to the ship and the people farthest from shore. Chuck said, "The scooters...the scooters, Lee. They can help some people make it to shore. Take us around to the port side of the ship. Sarah and your sister would have tied them off there."

In a few minutes, they had gotten both of the scooters from the rope and swung back around the side of the ship to the struggling yelling mass of men and women in the water. Chuck turned on both scooters and found struggling swimmers to give them to. Then they looked for more people to help.

Finding a couple of men unable to get thru through the surf, Chuck started to pull them in. Others saw, though and came at the small craft. As five or six men tried to clamber up one side, the boat began to dip dangerously down along that side. Chuck threw his weight up against the other side of the boat to counter-balance, but then a woman came from behind him and grabbed the boat from that side, pulling it down. Chuck was surprised, overbalanced and fell overboard. The cold water as a shock, but he righted himself in a moment. A wave hit him and knocked him under again.

Chuck had always been a strong swimmer and the ocean didn't panic him. His long arms and legs pushed him through the waves. He yelled at Lee, trying to control the now badly overloaded boat, "Go, get them to shore. I'll be ok...go!"

Triggering his communications gear to the rest of the team, he said, "Casey, what's going on onshore?"

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As police and fire department personnel arrived, Casey immediately made himself known and demanded to speak to the man or woman in charge of the rescue effort on the beach. It turned out to be a woman police Captain by the name of Reynolds. She was a hard looking woman in her early forties.

"I'm Reyonlds," she said.

Casey flashed his credentials and said, "Casey. I'm a Federal officer. I've got a team here, but this whole thing went sideways."

"Oh, so this is your fault?"

"Only that these bastards must have figured out we had a reception planned for them in Long Beach and decided to dump their cargo here. I'm guessing they didn't much care if the weak ones drown."

"I'd like to drown those pricks myself," she said.

"You and me both, Captain."

"Where's your team?"

"Woman down there. She's a nurse, but we'll need a hell of a lot more medical than her," Casey pointed to Fen, helping struggling people out of the surf. "Two women in black wetsuits on the ship, one American blonde, one Chinese. And two men in black in a black inflatable boat."

"Ok, I'll put the word out. Do you know how many people in the water? I can't see shit."

"Almost three hundred on board the ship. No telling how many have jumped, but it looks like most of those. We have a chopper with a searchlight coming?"

"Yeah, it's on its way. "

"In the meantime, why don't we get these trucks pointed to the water and get their highbeams on."

"Good idea, I'll get someone on it."

"And there are three of four guys over there unconscious. Please take them into custody. I'll deal with them later"

"Right. Unconscious?"

"Yeah, they annoyed me."

"Remind me not to annoy you," she said with a grimace.

"And I have a chopper over there on the golf course, but no searchlight, so that's not gonna help."

"Ok, I'll keep it in mind though."

He grunted. In his ear he heard Chuck ask, "Casey, what's going on onshore?"

"Police and rescue personnel arriving, but it's still a clusterfuck here. What's your status?"

"I'm in the water. Lee is bringing a boatload up. I'm swimming for the beach."

"Right. Fen is on the beach helping. Look for her."

"Right."

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Sarah glanced over the side of the ship and gasped. "Oh, shit. Mei-Ling. There's someone down there face down. Someone drowning. Are we still useful up here?"

"No, Sarah. I can't do any more here. I tried, but there's only a handful left who won't try to swim for it. Let's get in the water and try to help."

Smoothly and gracefully, they vaulted together over the ship's rail and fell to the black water below. Sarah swam to the person face down in the water. It was a young man. She turned him over and grabbed him from behind with one arm across his chest, holding him under the opposite armpit. With the small of his back and his butt against her hip, keeping his head and face above water, she began to swim to shore with a strong sidestroke.

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Lee brought to boat towards shore and the five or six people and their baggage unloaded. He saw Fen hip deep in the water trying to help people through the surf.

He turned the boat around and headed back out.

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As Chuck made it to the surf zone, he reached out to steady a young man trying to make it past the battering waves. Chuck was already shivering from the cold water, but did his best to ignore it among all these people in desperate need of his help.

He half carried the man out of the water and up onto the sand.

In his ear he heard Sarah, "Chuck, I'm coming to the beach. I could use your help."

"Where are you?" he called.

"Here." He saw her waving and dove into the water to her. She was carrying/towing someone who looked dead.

"Give him to me," he said.

Chuck took the man in his arms, the man's arm hanging limp in front of him, and carried him up onto the beach, being careful not to fall in the crashing waves. "FEN," Chuck screamed. "FEN"

She came over and immediately took charge of the man. "Here, lay him down here." Chuck did so. "Right, I got this now, Chuck."

He looked around and saw Mei-Ling helping someone else from the water. A helicopter and searchlight arrived and lit the scene. Police, firemen and rescue workers were beginning to swarm over the beach. He thought he saw a news van. The flashing lights of dozens of emergency vehicles lit the scene behind the beach. The Triad's trucks were turned toward the water with their lights on.

There were people everywhere on the beach. Standing, sitting and milling around. The prostrate man Fen was working on wasn't the only one. At least a half dozen men or women were lying on the sand with paramedics in attendance. The sound of screams and yelling from the water mixed with the harsh voices and squawks from the radios of the rescue workers on the beach and the pounding thrum of the hovering helicopter.

A small police boat arrived and began to pick up people in the water.

Some paramedics came to help Fen with the man she was working on. Police walked around handing out blankets. Somebody put a blanket around Chuck.

He saw Sarah. Like him, she was taking in the scene with disbelief...even a bit of shock. Wordlessly, they came together and Chuck wrapped them both in his blanket. They stood for a moment just holding each other, an island of calm in a sea of chaos.

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A/N2: At 2AM on June 6, 1993, the freighter Golden Venture deliberately ran aground about three hundred yards off Rockaway Beach in New York City. The grounding was at the direction of the Chinese gangsters in charge of the human trafficking operation. The passengers, 286 illegal immigrants from Fujian Province in China, both panicked and eager to reach American soil, jumped overboard into the cold waters of the Atlantic. Both the New York Police Department and the Fire Department (generally tasked with rescue in NYC) arrived on the scene to help. Ten of the immigrants died in the cold water that night.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Don't own Chuck or Mei-Ling, but now that I'm writing this version of Mei-Ling, I'm hoping to see a spinoff from the people who do own her.

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The debacle on the beach was, as to be expected, extensively covered in the morning news. Dramatic footage showed men and women struggling ashore in the dark through the surf and later, in the first gray light of dawn, wet and bedraggled blanket-clad men and women being escorted onto Los Angeles city buses by police officers. Wo, the Triad man in charge of the beach pick-up, had been right to have put Lo Pan's departure plans in motion. His guidance was, as usual, prudent. Lo Pan had not heard from him since his message and assumed he was in the custody of the American authorities. The thought didn't overly concern him, though. The authorities would not be able to prove much beyond one actual shipload of cargo. The captain of the ship would have destroyed the hard drive containing the only real evidence of the ship's connection to the White Dragons.

Nevertheless, it was fortuitous timing to take this opportunity to visit colleagues overseas. Lo Pan intended to stay away until the press coverage regarding the grounding of the Golden Voyage had died down. Perhaps a month. Perhaps two. It was of no concern. Given the communications facilities now available to him, he could control his operations from almost anywhere. He smiled slightly to himself. He would, as the young people said, 'work from home.'

The Gulfstream S650 twin engine private jet stood gleaming white on the tarmac of Van Nuys Airport, the crew already on board and preparing the aircraft for departure. Lo Pan's limo stopped at the foot of the stairs and his attendants carried him up to the cabin, placing him gently into one of the comfortable cabin seats. His luggage and wheelchair followed. The jet was an indulgence, but given that he was no longer ambulatory, he felt entitled to it. Commercial air travel would have been a difficult ordeal for him.

In addition to the three bodyguards, he was accompanied by Muan, his Triad man inside the Chinese Consulate, the man who had brought Lee Cho's investigation to Lo Pan's attention in the first place. With Cho now free, it was also prudent to arrange for Muan to leave Los Angeles for a while. The man could return once it was clear that he was not at risk of arrest from the Chinese authorities.

They all settled down in the seats and belted themselves in. The pilot announced the flight information and directed the passengers to stay seated with seatbelts fastened until notified otherwise. The plane began to taxi. Lo Pan had made it very clear that he wanted to be airborne without delay.

No one spoke while the plane made its way from the taxiway toward the runway. It stopped for a moment on the edge of the runway while the pilot changed frequencies from ground control to the tower and obtained the necessary clearance to proceed onto the active runway. The jet moved forward, performed a hard left hand turn and stopped for a moment. The engines roared, the brakes were disengaged and the plane rolled down the runway, picking up speed as it went.

A few seconds later they were in the air and leaving Los Angeles behind and below. Unconsciously, Lo Pan let out a breath. He told himself that he had not been terribly concerned, but it was still a relief to leave the jurisdiction of California. He knew he would likely be subject to the same concern when they stopped to refuel in Hawaii, but this was an important step on the journey.

After a couple of minutes, he watched the land fall away behind his jet and give way to the sparkling blue waters of the Pacific. The plane banked to the right and he saw Catalina Island off to his left. Minutes passed as they left the coast behind and began the journey to Hawaii. Once the pilot indicated that they had reached the requisite altitude over the ocean and turned off the seatbelt sign, Lo Pan realized that the flight crew had been absent during the take off. Motioning to one of his men he said, in Mandarin, "Find the stupid girl and get me some tea."

The man moved forward to the galley. He shouted in English, "Hey, where are you?" as he pulled back the sliding door to the galley.

Mei-Ling punched him three times before he even realized that she was in the galley. The man staggered back against the bulkhead. Mei-Ling lunged towards Lo Pan, but the man she'd hit was tough. He pulled himself off the wall of the cabin and reached for her. Grabbing her around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, he lifted her off the ground and slammed the top of her head into the ceiling of the jet. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his arms. Satisfied, he dropped her into one of the empty seats in the cabin.

Muan looked shocked. "What the hell? Who is that? What's going on?"

"Unless I am mistaken, Muan, this is Mei-Ling Cho. The sister of the man you betrayed to me. She works for the MSS."

"She's a spy?" asked Muan with amazement in his voice.

"She is. And this is a fortuitous development. The government of Taiwan will be delighted to have me hand her over to them. In the unlikely event that the Americans were to pressure them for my return, this will give them sufficient motivation to resist such requests. Don't you think they will be eager to interrogate a Mainland spy? Maybe I'll get a medal." He began to laugh mirthlessly.

Turning to the man who knocked her unconscious, Lo Pan said, "Bind her hands, then wake her." Lo Pan looked at her carefully and calmly as the sunlight from the cabin window shined on her young face….well, young to me, he thought. An attractive woman. He considered with distaste of what would happen to that pretty face during interrogation and put the notion aside as unpalatable. After all, she had attacked him and would now suffer the consequences of such foolishness.

When her hands were bound, the man slapped her none too gently several times. Slowly, her eyes opened. She bucked in her seat as she realized where she was and what position she was in. She lunged out of her seat towards Lo Pan, bound hands outstretched with fingers curved like claws, but the man standing over her punched her in the face before she had made it too far. She was slammed onto the floor of the plane by the force of the punch. He picked her up roughly by an arm. She tried to headbutt him, but he threw her off balance by jerking the arm he held and backhanded her to the floor of the plane a second time. He picked her up one more time and dropped her into the seat, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The man moved around to stand behind her seat, keeping a wary eye on her.

"Lo Pan," she said, in a dead voice.

"Good morning, Ms. Cho," he replied with studious calm in his somewhat high-pitched voice. "Although I seriously doubt it will, in fact, be a good morning for you. You are bound and outnumbered on my jet. You have already seen what just one of my men is capable of and I have two more guards with me. We are now flying to Taiwan, where you will be delivered to the Taiwanese government as a Mainland spy. It is a sad day for your espionage career, Ms. Cho. Perhaps, after a few years, your government will trade you for a Taiwanese spy they have caught. Or perhaps they will not and you will live the rest of your life in a cell. I am curious, though. How did you find me? How did you know I would be on this aircraft?"

"Not too difficult. One of my American friends saw the text message. It was pretty clear. You, number 489 in your Triad numerology, were leaving Van Nuys Airport - VNY - and heading to Hualien Airport, Taiwan - HUN - with a refueling stop in Dillingham Field, Hawaii - HDH. Leaving at 8am. You should have used a code or something to make it harder to figure out."

"Perhaps we will next time, Ms. Cho. Where are your American friends now?"

"Behind us. They helped sneak me aboard the plane, then they had to stay behind. They lack the jurisdiction to come with me."

"That is unfortunate for you."

"So, you are fleeing Los Angeles, Lo Pan? That fiasco on the beach, the Golden Voyage, that was enough to drive you out?"

"That was merely a temporary set back. One ship is stopped. One cargo lost. They cannot tie the ship to me or to my men. It is no matter. There are hundreds of other ships and thousands upon thousands of people eager to pay the White Dragon for passage to America. The golden land of opportunity, don't you know. I came over penniless and I am now worth hundreds of millions of American dollars."

"Through crime, Lo Pan," she said, disdainfully. "You are nothing but a common criminal."

"I may be a criminal, Ms. Cho, but I am anything but common. I have operated in Los Angeles for over fifty years and the stupid police have never arrested me. I have committed murder, robbery, extortion, bribery and all manner of crimes and they have never even come close to me. I have sold narcotics and stolen goods, run gambling dens and houses of prostitution. Lately, medical insurance fraud is very profitable. And yet I live comfortably in Beverly Hills."

"Murder?" she scoffed. "You haven't committed murder. Maybe your men have, but not you personally. Not too many murderers in wheelchairs, Lo Pan. You need the tough guys to do your dirty work for you. You'd never get your own hands dirty."

"You are attempting to anger me, Ms. Cho, but it will not work. You are right that I would not commit violence today and that I am more comfortable ordering my men to do so, and trust me, they are more than eager to do so. But, I was not always so. I was young once myself, with the use of my legs, and was forced by circumstances to participate in violence...lethal violence."

"I do not find you an impressive man, Lo Pan. I don't believe you have ever killed anyone. Not personally."

"Believe what you will. It is of no importance to me. But you may choose to ask the widow of Min Poon Ran what happened to her husband. Or the children of Ho Shen where their father is."

"You killed both of them? Yourself? Why?" she asked with obvious surprise.

"I will be pleased to tell you," he said. Lo Pan began a long story about Min Poon Ran and his stubborn recalcitrance in seeing the wisdom of cooperation with the White Dragons. The story ended with Lo Pan strangling the man in an alleyway on the orders of the then Mountain Master.

"And the other one? Ho Shen? What did he do to deserve to die at your hands?" asked Mei-Ling.

Again, Lo Pan told a long story involving disrespect by a Red Pole to the Mountain Master and the price to be paid for it. That man was knifed by Lo Pan and his body deliberately left for his family to find.

"So, that is the way you operate. The Mountain Master just points and you would kill someone? Is that still the way the White Dragons conduct business? You tell the soldiers who to kill and they do it?"

"Ms. Cho, please. I am a businessman. I abhor violence. Unfortunately, it may be required from time to time. If I order that a person be killed or hurt, or that other action be taken, that will happen. Your line of work is similar, from what I understand."

"Are you the only one who can issue such an order? Are you that important? How do you control your organization? After all, you are only one man. An important man, but only one. Surely you can't be everywhere at once. As wise as you may be, you cannot make every decision."

"Of course not. You clearly have no grasp of history. I am but a general. The strength of any general is not in his arms but in his army." He squinted against the sunlight from the cabin window and pulled the shade closed, blocking his view of the Pacific. One of his men had gotten him some tea, and he took a sip of the hot liquid. "I have many strong leaders to rely on. Men who have dedicated their lives to the brotherhood. Wo, who was at the beach last night and is probably in the hands of the authorities by now is one of my top lieutenants. A very wise man. I have tasked him with the coordination of our entire human trafficking operation. Hanwa, who owns a construction company in Chinatown, is a very reliable Triad member. He is particularly helpful in the distribution of narcotics from his construction sites. Bo Ran runs our prostitution businesses from a chain of massage parlors throughout Los Angeles. The banker Peter Wan is crucial in moving our money from here to there and back again." Lo Pan clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice. He talked for quite a while about the structure of the White Dragon Triad and its members and activities. Mei-Ling listened with rapt attention and the occasional question or comment. She seemed enthralled by his stories, eager to learn more about his life and business.

"But you are just local to Los Angeles, Lo Pan. Some Triads are transnational, but not the White Dragons. You just operate in Los Angeles. Why is that?"

"That is ironic coming from a Mainland spy. Now that Hong Kong belongs to you, we operate in your country as well. Your 'two systems' nonsense makes no difference to us. Some of our most lucrative ventures originate from Hong Kong."

"No, no, no, Lo Pan. My colleagues with the People's Armed Police are much too effective to allow such activities. It's not like the capitalist countries surrounding us. We don't have a crime problem back home"

"Is that right? Well, it seems your faith in the police might be mistaken. No less than one tenth of all the drugs in Asia pass through my distribution center in a warehouse in Kowloon owned by one of my Filipino shell companies. No one even suspects, especially not your stupid PAP goons."

"But how? All the cargo is searched into and out of the Port of Hong Kong."

"All the cargo?" He laughed. "A pipe dream, Ms. Cho. Your country wishes it had that power. In fact…" he proceeded to tell a long story involving inspectors, shipping containers, Hong Kong bankers and Filipino sailors.

"It's shocking to me that you haven't been caught yet. Either by the Americans or by my people," said Mei-Ling. "How do you do that? Have you bribed the American police?"

"Of course, I have. The Americans are greedy, selfish children. A few pieces of gold and they would sell out their own mothers. They have no sense of honor. LAPD, Homeland Security, CHiPs, all of them have Triad money in their pockets. There is an FBI agent on their so-called organized crime task force and all that I have to do is supply him with a fresh harem of underage girls for his bed. In return, I am given prior warning of anything the Americans have planned for me. It's a simple business."

"Is the man Chinese? Is that how you got to him with the girls?"

"Ha. Flannigan? He is the least Chinese man you will meet. A red-faced Irishman. As ugly as a slab of meat."

"Is that what happened with Muan here? Did he betray his country for your money? Betray my brother?"

At the sound of his name, Muan started and looked away from the window, "No, you stupid cow. You fail to understand at all," he said. "The Triads are hundreds of years old. I am a sworn member of the White Dragon, as was my father and grandfather. The present regime in Beijing wasn't even an idea when my ancestors pledged their loyalty to their brothers in the Triad. And this brotherhood will outlast the politicians. I wasn't bribed to betray Lee, I did it willingly, serving a higher loyalty."

"How very noble of you, Muan. I'm sure my brother would have appreciated your motives while he was being beaten by your fellow brothers in the Triad."

"He involved himself in our business. That was his mistake."

"Loyalty and money. A powerful combination, Lo Pan. It's no wonder you have managed to survive as long as you have," she said, squinting against the bright sunlight. "How do you launder the money you make?"

Lo Pan said, "It is….." He stopped, puzzled. Suddenly, his eyes widened with alarm and his finger jabbed at the man behind Mei-Ling. His normally calm voice was harsh and panicked, he screeched, "The cockpit...the cockpit..find out why we are circling."

"What?" asked the man, somewhat slow on the uptake.

"The sunlight, you idiot. It's moved around the plane…."

As the man began to catch on to what Lo Pan was saying, Mei-Ling said, "Chuck, Casey," jammed her elbow into the groin of the man standing behind her and threw both feet over her head to knock him backwards.

Behind Lo Pan, the door to the sleeping cabin opened and Casey stepped out. He wrapped his left arm around the neck of one of Lo Pan's bodyguards and picked the man up from his seat.

In the front of the cabin, Chuck stepped out of the cockpit and grabbed the man Mei-Ling had kicked by his shoulder. Chuck was wearing the stun glove on his left hand and the man twitched and collapsed.

Lo Pan's other bodyguard leaped from his seat only to be grabbed by Casey's right hand, similarly equipped with a stun glove. The man collapsed.

Chuck said, "Wow. I always wanted to learn the Vulcan neck pinch. Cool."

"As usual, Moron, I have no idea what you're talking about," said Casey.

Mei-Ling, now standing over Muan, said, "It's from Star Trek, Casey. What? Were you hatched?" She heard Chuck's laughter and Casey's grunt. She said to Muan, "Please try to fight me, Muan. Please, resist me. For the honor of the White Dragons. No? Pity," she said as the man slumped in his seat, wisely choosing to avoid physical engagement with Mei-Ling.

"Hey, Casey, are you strangling that guy?" asked Chuck.

"No, kid. It's a sleeper hold. My forearm and bicep are nowhere near his trachea. See? Look, they're on either side of his neck. He can breath just fine." Casey easily moved the struggling man around in his arms to give Chuck a better view of the hold. With his gloved right hand he pointed out the area on the side of the man's neck. "I'm cutting off the blood flow to his brain. He'll pass out in a few more seconds. Takes a little longer, but it's very effective. The hard part is knowing not to leave it in place too long. You can kill the guy like this if you're not careful."

"Oh. You ever kill a guy with that hold?" Chuck asked.

The man was kicking and flailing uselessly. "Not accidentally," said Casey as his victim went limp and collapsed. Turning to Mei-Ling he asked, "How'd we do?" The conversation had been entirely in Mandarin, so other than Mei-Ling they had no idea what the discussion entailed.

"Structure of the Triad, a corrupt FBI agent, the Golden Voyage, and two murders for Lo Pan personally. Drug transshipment operation in Hong Kong. Muan totally implicated. Seems pretty good to me."

"You record it all, kid?"

"Every word. Three separate recordings, in case one or two went bad. Those cameras you set up were great too, Case," said Chuck. He bent down to Lo Pan and said, "You are very photogenic, Mr. Lo Pan. Ever think of getting a job in Hollywood?" Lo Pan was sitting in sullen silence. He had put the shade up again and was looking out the window at the blue water below.

Casey used a pocket knife to free Mei-Ling's hands and the spies began to search and secure the prisoners. Casey called Chuck over to watch and learn how to search a prisoner.

When it was Lo Pan's turn, Casey said, "Ok, Ironsides. Your turn."

"Surely that is not necessary, Agent Casey. As you know, I cannot walk."

"Didn't know walking was necessary to pull a trigger, numbnuts."

As Casey's hands made their way up Lo Pan's useless legs, Lo Pan said, "Please leave an old man his dignity, Agent Casey, and do not grope my genitals." Casey looked at him strangely for a moment and jammed his hand into Lo Pan's groin.

"Oh, come one. Really? And you just had to tell me about it? I mean I'd have found it anyway, but to just announce it like that, Jeez." He began to undo Lo Pan's belt and trousers. Jerking down the waistband of his briefs he pointed to the handle of a pistol which had been concealed beneath Lo Pan's underwear adjacent to the man's genitals. "Here, kid. Grab that."

"I'm not grabbing that. Look where it is. I'm not gonna touch that."

"Come on, don't be all squeamish and stuff. Just grab it," said Casey.

"No. You grab it," said Chuck.

"No, you," said Casey.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Mei-Ling with exasperation as she reached between them to remove the gun from Lo Pan's crotch. It was a 32 caliber Colt detective special six-shot revolver with a bobbed hammer, a small gun made for concealment, but with a great deal of stopping power. "What is the matter with men?" She put the gun with the growing pile of weapons from the prisoners.

Muan said to Casey, "You can't arrest me. I have diplomatic immunity."

"Sure," said Casey. "You are free to go." He waved his hand around the plane's cabin. "Oh, wait, I guess that doesn't do you much good at the moment, now does it? Whatever. No worries, though, pal. We aren't arresting you when we land. We are delivering you into the custody of a representative of your government. Aren't we Mei-Ling?"

Mei-Ling smiled at Muan with all the warmth of a lioness eyeing a goat and said, "Yes, I will take custody of Muan, Casey. I'm looking forward to that." The man looked at Mei-Ling and his eyes widened with sudden fear.

All the prisoners had been searched and restrained. Mei-Ling made her way forward to the cockpit. Chuck followed her.

Sarah sat in the pilot's seat wearing the light green headphones routinely worn by pilots. She smiled when she saw Mei-Ling and removed one of the headphones so she could hear the Chinese spy.

Mei-Ling took one look at her and said, "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Sarah said, with an enormous grin, "I love flying. Love it. And I don't get to do it nearly enough. Seriously, this is the most fun you can possibly have with your clothes on. And this is a beautiful plane. When I win the lottery, I'm getting one of these for each day of the week."

"You certainly do seem to love it. You're glowing."

"You want to try?" Sarah gestured to the co-pilot's seat. "Take a seat and I'll give you control for a while. See how much you like it. But it's addictive, so be warned, girlfriend," she said with a huge laugh.

"Thanks, but I'll pass for the moment. Something else I have in mind," said Mei-Ling.

"Work? Are we all good?" she asked.

"Yes. Success. We'll certainly wrap up Lo Pan and maybe a significant portion of the entire Triad, both in Los Angeles and in Hong Kong."

"Excellent. We didn't do too bad for freelancing, huh?" asked Sarah.

"Not too bad at all. What now?"

"Well, I guess we head back and turn over Lo Pan and the recordings to the cops. You can take your copy to help close down the Hong Kong operation."

"So we are heading back to the airport now?" asked Mei-Ling.

"Yeah, why?"

"Any chance of circling out here for a bit longer?" asked Mei Ling.

"Sure. We are in uncontrolled airspace out here. We can stay out as long as we want. We needed to be far enough away from the coast that Lo Pan and his goons wouldn't see land at any time as we circled, so we are pretty far out. As we head back into LA, we'll start encountering controlled airspace. There are a shitload of airports around there and almost all of them have flight restrictions controlling where we can go. But out here? We can mess around up here freely."

"Are we a mile high?" she asked.

Her eyes sparkling with amusement and a smile playing on her lips, Sarah said, "Why yes we are, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, good," said Mei-Ling, also smiling. "Circle a few more times, will you?" She turned away from Sarah in the cockpit and started to move back into the cabin. "Hey, Casey, come with me. I have a bucket list thing I need your help with."

She moved through the cabin to the enclosed sleeping compartment at the aft of the plane. Casey rushed to follow, but he turned around and said, "Hey, Bartowski. Keep an eye on the prisoners, ok?"

"I got it, Case. No worries."

With a grunt, Casey followed Mei-Ling into the back of the plane, almost stumbling over a prisoner's foot in his eagerness.

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other and started to laugh. While standing in the cockpit door watching the prisoners, he reached out and held her hand.

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A/N2: Thanks to atcDave for his guidance about the airspace regulations. How cool is it that we have readers and friends who are experts in all kinds of awesome stuff and we can ask for help.

A/N3: One more chapter in this arc and we go on to meet Mr. Lazlo Mahnovski. As usual, thanks to everyone for their feedback. That's what makes this whole thing incredibly fun.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Mei-Ling is a communist. I expect she doesn't believe anyone should own Chuck. Well, maybe the "people" should own Chuck (as represented by the State, I guess).

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Beckman and Graham looked out at them from the screen of Casey's TV. They didn't look particularly upset. In fact, they might have even looked a little pleased.

Beckman said, "We kept Lo Pan's arrest quiet until the FBI and the PAP could coordinate their raids in Hong Kong and Los Angeles. Those raids took place a few hours ago and were, thanks to the information you and Ms. Cho were able to obtain, entirely successful. It appears that the White Dragon Triad has been severely damaged, if not eliminated entirely."

Sarah said, "But the people from the ship? What about them?"

Graham said, "You did all you could, Agent Walker. Two people drowned and one died from hypothermia. Without your team there, the toll of casualties would have been much worse. You got the police and rescue workers there immediately and Ms. Cho may have convinced some of the immigrants to stay on the ship."

"And the ones who made it to the beach? What happens to them?" asked Chuck.

"They are now enmeshed in our legal system, our immigration system. Time will tell, but it's unlikely to be quick." Graham looked pained and sounded resigned.

"And Muan? The Triad man in the consulate? What will the Chinese do with him?" asked Casey.

"They've already done it, Major. He's dead. Died on the grounds of the consulate, so on Chinese soil. No cause of death given. They reached out to coordinate the transport of the body back to Beijing," said Graham. Casey grunted.

"But, back to the White Dragons," said Beckman. "The President of China spoke to our President a couple of hours ago. He'd specifically called to thank us for the very successful joint intelligence operation conducted among the MSS and our agencies and for the rescue of one of their diplomats. It seems he had been briefed by the Minister of State Security, our counterpart, and wanted to express his thanks and appreciation to the President personally."

"General Beckman and I just finished a call with the President and he specifically asked us to reach out to the team responsible and express his personal thanks and congratulations for a job well done. It seems this is a major step forward in relations between the countries. So, Team Bartowski, please accept this as coming directly from the Oval Office," said Graham with a satisfied smile.

That was met by a stunned silence. Predictably, it was Chuck who broke the silence, "You mean you're not mad at us? You covered for us?"

"Of course, we covered for you Chuck, you're our guys," said Graham. "Just like the Minister covered for Agent Cho. I spoke to the Minister this morning and together we agreed on the story to tell our respective political leadership. We'll always cover for you if we can. And as to being mad at you, why would we be mad at you?"

"Because we went off and helped Mei-Ling when you told us it wasn't any of our business."

"No. I said we couldn't help her "officially"..."officially"...that left the door wide open for you and your team to help her unofficially. I knew at least one of you would recognize the distinction. Anyway, I was right, we couldn't help officially. Her situation was outside of our jurisdiction. From a purely legal point of view, I was totally right. But we knew you wouldn't leave it alone..not you guys," he said with a chuckle. "I probably wouldn't have either in your shoes."

Chuck, Sarah and Casey were grinning, "Very subtle, Sir, Ma'am," said Casey.

"Thank you, Major," said Beckman with a small smile. "We thought so."

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Mei-Ling threw her bag into the back of the Porsche and climbed into the passenger seat next to Sarah. Casey had to handle paperwork for Beckman and, although Sarah had volunteered to do it for him, that wasn't in the cards. As he was busy, she volunteered to take Mei-Ling to the airport.

"Thanks for the lift," she said.

"Any time. Happy to," said Sarah.

"Where's Chuck?" asked Mei-Ling.

"He's having dinner with his sister. Same night every year. They call it Mother's Day. Real Mother's Day here in the U.S. is in May, but they have their own special version between just the two of them."

"Why?" asked Mei-Ling.

"When he was little, their mother left them. Their father was not really around, at least that's the way they describe it, I guess I don't really know. Anyway, this is the anniversary of the day their mother walked out."

"Seems an odd choice to celebrate," said Mei-Ling.

"I know, but that's not exactly what they are doing. They came through it. Came through it together. It's the celebration of that. Of the day they began to take care of each other. They are incredibly close. I don't know much about siblings, and I know you and Lee are close, but Chuck and Ellie...wow...really, really close."

"Thanks for sharing that, Sarah. That sounds like a wonderful relationship they have... And thank you for the help over the last couple of days. Rescuing my brother and then the fight with the White Dragons. I'm not used to people, well, acting like you did, like your team did. Just helping me and not asking for anything in return. It's not what happens in my life, in our lives. As spies."

"You're welcome, Mei-Ling. You overheard the conversations at Casey's the night we grabbed you. You know it was Chuck. He convinced us. He's not a spy and doesn't think like we do. It gives us a different perspective. Maybe a healthy perspective once in a while. It turned out pretty well, though. Your boss covered for you and our bosses covered for us. Politicians are happy with the result. And, best of all, the Triad is on the ropes."

"Those poor people, though," said Mei-Ling.

"Yeah. That part sucks," she said.

"Chuck...he's an interesting element in your team. How'd that happen?"

"Can't tell you," replied Sarah.

"Right. Of course not," said Mei-Ling, without attitude. She understood entirely. The very fact that she had been allowed to work this closely with an American team was, in and of itself, so unusual as to be just about unprecedented. "He's good though. I like him, I mean I like you all, but he's different. You are a very lucky woman, Sarah."

"I know. Casey and I are happy to have him on the team."

"That's not what I meant. You, personally, are lucky. You have found love. And the love of a really good man. A man who loves you back and cares for you and respects you and still allows you to do your job. I have never seen that before in a woman spy. You know, we have a saying in the MSS, 'Zhe xiang yewu bushihe jiating'. It means 'This business makes no home for a family.'"

Sarah gave a short bark of laughter. "Here we say 'Spies don't fall in love.'"

"Huh. Same thing. You are happy and you are still a badass spy. I truly didn't know that was possible, but now I see it is. You are my role model from now on, Sarah. Oh, don't make that face. I know your reputation. I know how much wet work they have had you do. And here you are, happy and in love with a great guy. Sarah, if you can find love, I can as well. Seriously. That means an incredible amount to me. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you it's life changing."

Sarah was uncomfortable with Mei-Ling's revelation. She was nobody's role model. She knew just how deeply flawed she was. "Well," said Sarah. She paused for a few moments and said, "I'm still trying to figure it all out myself honestly. This relationship thing is really pretty new for me. I mean a real relationship, with a real guy, for real, not a cover thing or a seduction."

"I have no advice. I don't have any real relationships either."

"Casey?"

"No. I mean yes, it was real, is real, just ...limited. I saw you with Chuck and...well, I wanted something. I don't know...intimacy, I guess. Just some connection. I like Casey. He's a great guy, but I'm leaving. I doubt we'll keep in touch. For goodness sake, forget the normal difficulty of our jobs, our countries aren't even allies, well, most times anyway. Talk about a difficult relationship," she said with a smile and wave of her hands.

Sarah laughed lightly and said, "Yeah, that would make any problems I have with Chuck seem easy."

"You have problems with Chuck? I'm surprised. You seem to get along perfectly."

"No. Not really problems. That's sort of the problem, you know?" Sarah was laughing at herself a little bit. "It's all too good. It's moving too fast. People all tell me I'm in love, but I've never even used that word...ever...with anyone. I'm just a little freaked out. Chuck's sister told me to just relax and enjoy it."

"You talked to your boyfriend's sister about it?" Mei-Ling asked with a touch of teasing humor in her voice.

Laughing at herself again, Sarah said, "Well...she was the only one around to talk to. I certainly wasn't going to have that conversation with Casey. And Ellie, his sister, is, well, sort of a friend, I guess."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. I don't have friends, and it's, well, it's good with Ellie."

Mei-Ling paused, looking out the window at Los Angeles passing and finally said, "Are we friends?"

Sarah smiled a little and said, "I guess so. I don't know. I don't have enough friends to be able to tell."

"Me either. Is there a sign or indication we should look for? Some way to tell? Like a symptom," Mei-Ling asked with a smile.

"I have no idea. Maybe we can look it up on the Internet? Google it?" asked Sarah.

"I'll bet there's a secret handshake or something," said Mei-Ling.

They found themselves grinning at each other.

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"As usual, Sis, that was delish," said Chuck as he moved to clear the table.

"Thanks, Chuck," said Ellie with a happy, loving smile. "Sarah wasn't upset that you were having dinner with me? Just the two of us?"

"Oh, no. No worries. She understands...she's good that way. She's taking a friend to the airport."

"Oh. Who?"

"Umm, I don't think you know her...she's a new friend. But she didn't have a ride to the airport and you know Sarah. Always ready to help."

"Or just an excuse to drive her Porsche?" she said laughing.

"Yeah, that too," he said with a smile. "She does love that car."

Ellie reached out and laid a gentle hand on his and said, "She's a very loving woman."

"Oh...yeah," said Chuck, a little flustered for a moment. "She is. And I...I...Ellie..." He ran a hand over his face. "Can I talk to you about...? I'm a little freaked out about Sarah. I'm falling for her so fast and so hard...I hope she feels the same way..."

"Don't worry, Chuck."

"I know. It's nuts, right? I'm freaking out that things are going too well. That I'm too happy. That we seem too happy together. It's like the dial on our relationship goes up to eleven. Everything is ...well, just more. Like all the colors are extra vibrant. And it's so fast. It's only been a few months and I'm already so totally in love with her. I spend every minute I can with her and it's not enough. I think about her all the time. Just looking at her smile makes me happy for an hour." He was filling the dishwasher.

"Chuck, don't look for trouble where there isn't any. For five years you were in a sort of self-imposed limbo after Jill..."

"Who?" asked Chuck

She chuckled and lightly swatted him on the shoulder, "...and now you are not only past that bitch, but wonderfully happy with someone who is crazy about you back. And someone who is terrific in her own right. She really smart and charming. Sweet. Kind. Incredibly beautiful. Athletic. Funny. She's like the complete package. It's like she was made just for you." Ellie sipped her wine and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"See, that's another thing, El. Sarah is really closed about her past. I have no idea about her family or where she grew up or past relationships or anything."

"Does that worry you?" she asked.

"That's what's so strange about it. I know it should worry me. I mean, what if she has an ex-husband or something? Right? That should bother me that I don't know this stuff. It's weird. But the strangest thing is ...I don't care. I really don't. It doesn't matter to me at all. I just know I can trust her. I know she's good...a good person. If she wants to keep her past to herself, that's ok. It's her business and I'm not going to pressure her. But does that just show that I'm not thinking straight? That I'm so crazy in love that I'm ignoring things I ought to be paying attention to?"

"No, Chuck. It shows that you are understanding...a patient, considerate boyfriend and a loving man. That's all it shows."

"So, I shouldn't freak out? Even though we are moving so fast as to make light speed seem slow? Not to bring up Jill again.."

"That bitch," said Ellie.

"..but my feelings for Sarah are way, way more than what I felt for Jill and Jill and I were together over three years. I thought I loved her, but damn I was so wrong. I had no idea. What I feel for Sarah already is so much more than what I ever felt for Jill. So deep. So satisfying. So joyous. And, yeah, so scary. I mean, I know it's too fast."

"Stop saying that. There's no such thing as too fast, Chuck. It's not like love has some kind of speed limit. Just feel what you feel for her and stop worrying about it. It's going to work out great. In the few months since she's come into your life, you've changed. Massively. I don't know how much of it is her, but it's obvious and it's wonderful. You're not in a rut anymore. You have energy and drive. You seem to be excited to face the day. You're making new friends...I mean, starting with Sarah and John. I'll bet you don't stay at the Buy More much longer. And you're thinking about taking Mrs. Prommer's apartment, right?"

"You knew that?"

"Of course, I did. I know you want to move out. You wanted to even before Sarah, but now..."

"You're not upset? That I want to move out?"

She squeezed his arm with love. "No, of course not. You're closer to 30 than to 20. It's good that you want a place of your own. I'd be worried if you didn't want to move out. That would be too weird." She made a face and swatted his arm. "And, anyway, you are talking about moving about 40 feet away. It's not like you are moving to New York or something."

"New York?...uggghhhhh."

Ellie laughed, "Oh, come on. You've ever even seen New York."

Chuck said, "What do you think she'll say?"

"Sarah? Say about...Oh, you're going to ask her to move in with you?" Ellie squealed with happiness and clapped her hands.

"Yes...no. I'm talking about both of us taking the apartment. Together. I don't want her to move in to my apartment. Then she's coming into my space. I want it to be our space from the beginning. A blank space that we can together make our own...Oh, God. It's too much, right? I keep doing this. Keep going too fast."

"Just relax. Talk to her about it. If she doesn't want you guys to live together yet, she'll say so. She's not shy. And we both know it's a hassle to have her stuff strewn between two places. For both of you. Remember when you were looking for your blue tee shirt last week?"

"You think so? You think I should ask her?"

"That's not what I said. I said you should talk to her about it. That's not the same as flat out asking her. Tell her you've been thinking about it and tell her that bit about wanting it to be your place together. That was really sweet. See what she says. I'm mean seriously, you are sleeping together just about every night, either here or at her place."

"Ok, I'll do that. Thanks, El," he said.

"What's the timing? When do you have to make up your mind?"

"Well, Mrs. Prommer is moving out at the end of next month, and I figure the landlord will want to clean the place up...do painting and stuff...so, I guess a new tenant could move in beginning of the year. He's probably marketing it now though. We'd probably have to tell him in the next few weeks."

"So, go ahead and talk to her then," Ellie said with a delighted smile and a bit of a giggle. "I'm so excited. My baby brother might be moving in next door with his best girl."

"Aw, come on, Ellie, you'll always be my best gal."

"Don't take this the wrong way, little brother, but I really hope not."

Chuck grinned at her, and she grinned right back.

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A/N2: Gong Xi Fa Cai (Happy Chinese Lunar New Year) to Lee and Mei-Ling Cho and all their friends in the MSS.

A/N3: Thanks for following along, guys. I do appreciate the reviews and PM's. There would be no fun to post anything without the feedback. So, please do keep it up.

A/N4: A dangerous and mentally unstable scientist/engineer named Lazlo Mahnovski has escaped custody and is making his way to Los Angeles. Stay tuned, my friends.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Happy to say, I don't own Dr. Lazlo Mahnovski. I don't really like the guy very much at all.

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Santa Monica Pier is one of the premier tourist attractions in the beachfront neighborhood of Santa Monica. Although, many would argue that the beach itself, miles of white sand bordered by the beautiful blue waters of the Pacific, was the real draw.

The Pier was occupied by stores, restaurants, and event locations, everything from an actual amusement park to a beautiful historic carousel. The Playland Arcade, on the Pier, was a classic old game arcade catering, as their slogan said, to kids and kids at heart. It was a nice sunny day when Chuck ventured inside it on a mission.

He stopped just through the doors and allowed his eyes to get used to the dimmer light. Once he was able to see adequately, he began to survey the crowded room, looking for his target. There was a smallish crowd playing games, and it didn't take too long for Chuck to spot the trademark green shirt of a Buy More employee. Chuck's mission was to get said Buy More employee back to the Buy More where he presently belonged.

"Morgan, where have you been? Where have you been? I've been trying to call you," he told Morgan.

"I...uhhh...I picked up the Sandworm costume from the dry cleaners. The ranch dressing from last year totally came out, so we're all good. You ready to win another Buy More costume contest?"

"No, no, no, cause you're supposed to be at work, buddy" said Chuck, as Morgan was putting on the strap of a guitar from the Guitar Shredder video game.

"But I got ten big ones riding on this quote unquote video game...so, can I just have a...this guy's been handing me my ass all week." Morgan waved to someone off to the side of the arcade.

A disreputable looking wild-haired guy in a tan raincoat (who wears a raincoat on a sunny day in southern California?) stepped over to the game and picked up the other guitar.

"Time to return the favor," Morgan said to Mr. Raincoat. Chuck flashed. Aw crap, he thought. This sucks. He so wanted to tell Morgan to watch out, that this guy was dangerous, but stopped himself. He had been trying really, really hard not to blurt out stuff he flashed on. He turned away from the two avid contestants and battling guitars and spoke into his watch for a few seconds.

Turning back to the men, he watched the game progress. Eventually Mr. Raincoat, who he now knew was Lazlo Mahnovski, won the game against Morgan. Morgan said, "Damn. How about best two out of three? Hey Chuck, can you spot me a ten?"

"Sure, little buddy," said Chuck, reaching for his wallet. Mr. Raincoat looked at him for the first time, focused on his watch, and seemed to panic a little. He abruptly put down the guitar and turned away from the game.

"Hey wait. I owe you ten bucks. Come back. I'm not a welsher. Hey, wait...where'd he go?"

"Dunno, Morg. Let me look for him. You stay here in case he comes back. If I'm not back in five minutes, go to work, buddy," said Chuck as he followed Mr. Raincoat into the crowd. He looked around to catch sight of the man. His height was an advantage in that effort, but so was the fact that a raincoat stood out pretty starkly against the casual wear of the people in the arcade. He saw the man pull on a black backpack and check over his shoulder with a hunted expression. Seeing Chuck watching him and approaching, he apparently decided not to run. Instead, he came straight at Chuck with a somewhat crazed look in his eyes.

Grabbing Chuck by the arms he demanded, "How did you find me? How did you find me? Who else knows I'm here? Who do you work for?" He sounded on the edge of panic.

"No one, No one. I don't know what you are talking about," said Chuck.

"I know you're a spy," said Mr. Raincoat. "Your watch. I designed that watch for the NSA. Are there other agents waiting for me outside?"

"Wait a second. You designed this watch?" asked Chuck, holding his hands up in a 'slow down' gesture.

"Yeah, now tell me..."

"Just the hardware or the software too? The app for the phone? Did you do both?"

"Both, both. But listen..."

"Cause the software you wrote sucks," said Chuck.

"If there are others outside...wait, what?"

"The software. It sucks. The hardware is ok, but the software..."

"It doesn't suck, you idiot. You don't know what you are talking about. I have a PhD. I design the best..."

"Naw, it sucks. At least it used to. I had to re-write it."

"You what? You re-wrote my software?" asked Mahnovski. He sounded quite offended.

"Yeah, I re-wrote it. You could only give the location of a tracked target in two dimensions. What happens when your target is in a multi-story building? You have no idea where the target is. You have to wander around the whole damn building looking for it. The software sucked. Sorry."

"That limitation couldn't be helped. There isn't an independent antenna system..."

"Oh, come on, Mr. PhD...or is it Dr. PhD?. Didn't you ever think about using the other transceivers?"

"Hhhhuuuuumm...To triangulate...yeah, that might work...if there were enough transceivers around you could get the altitude..." He paused and looked thoughtful, one hand raised to his chin, eyes a little unfocused as he ran through the permutations.

"Not 'might work', dude. It works. I re-wrote your software to do it. This watch and the app on my phone are loaded with my rewritten stuff," said Chuck.

"That's pretty smart...so you're a tech guy, like me. Where'd you get your PhD?"

"I didn't. I studied computers in college, but I...left before I graduated."

"Are you one of those brilliant dropout guys, like Bill Gates or Steve Jobs?"

"Yeah. That's me. Brilliant. Can't you tell?" asked Chuck. He stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Chuck."

Shaking Chuck's hand, he said, "Lazlo. Well, if you're a tech guy, why did they give you a spy's watch?"

"Who said they gave it to me? I like to try out the stuff I work on. Like a beta-tester. I took it to see what I could make it do," said Chuck.

"Show me the code you rewrote," demanded Mahnovski.

"Not here, Lazlo. Too many people around. Come on," Chuck said, leading him out into the bright sunlight on the Pier. They began to walk. "What's with the raincoat, by the way? It sort of stands out. Looks a little creepy, to be honest." Chuck knew the man was on the run, and was curious to hear the answer.

"I don't know. I didn't think about it. The government...that you work for...has kept me in an underground bunker for years. I never even get out to see the sun. They've locked me away and forced me to create devices for them...for their spies and intelligence agents."

"So, you're like Q," said Chuck.

"Who?" Mahnovski looked confused.

"Q. From James Bond? The guy who makes all the gadgets for Bond.." Chuck looked at the man aghast that he didn't get the reference. How could you not get that reference? It wasn't even obscure, he thought.

"The fictional spy? I don't know. I've never seen one of those movies. Are they good?"

"Wait a second. You've never seen a Bond movie? How is that even possible? Everybody's seen those movies."

"Um, no, Chuck. Bunker, remember."

"When did they put you in the bunker, Lazlo? When you were an infant? Cause some of those movies predate your dad, I think," said Chuck.

"I guess I was studying too much before then," said Mahnovski, looking a little like he'd been caught in a lie. "Before the government took me and locked me away."

"Ok, I guess. That makes more sense. But still, never took the time to see Bond. Man. Well, the good news is you're out now, at least," said Chuck.

"Not so good. They framed me for murder and they're hunting me."

"The government is hunting you? For murder?" asked Chuck, stopping in his tracks. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, but I didn't do it. I'm not a killer," he said with a crazed look in his eyes. "I thought you were an agent. From the watch. I thought you were an agent. That's why I got worried. I thought there would be a swarm of agents out here to arrest me, but you're just a tech guy, like me."

Walking once again, he said, "Well, I don't want to give you any advice about being hunted by the government. I don't know anything about that. But I think you should see a lawyer. You know? A good lawyer. I wouldn't try to take on the government without a good lawyer."

"Do you know any lawyers?" asked Mahnovski.

"Me? No. I mean except the ones I see advertising on TV. But I'm not sure those are the best ones, you know? I have a feeling that the good ones are the ones who don't advertise on TV. But I don't really know. Hey, here we are. Let's get something to eat and I'll show you what I did with your software. You ever have funnel cake?" They had arrived at the food court for Pacific Park, the amusement park on the Pier.

"No, what's that?" asked Mahnovski.

"It's like fried dough and they put whipped cream and stuff on it. Maybe chocolate sauce. Ice cream. You have to try it."

"Sounds good. I haven't had anything like that in years. Ever since they locked me up. They only give me MRE's to eat. You know, from the military. The food comes in sealed packets. And I have to eat them cold. They won't even let me heat them up."

"Oh, man. That sounds like it totally sucks. Our own government does that to you? How can that be?" asked Chuck.

"You can't be naïve, man. The government is out to get us. They don't give a shit about us...about anybody. Guys like us, if you perform too well for them, into a bunker you go. They don't want to lose your services, so they just take you. To hell with your rights."

"How is that legal?" asked Chuck.

"They don't care if it's legal. They just take what they want and screw the rest of it. You've got to wise up, man. See the truth. We have to fight those assholes. Fight them all. The government is the enemy," he said, with increasing passion. He was getting himself angry and seemed to be on the verge of losing control. This guy is more than a little unhinged, thought Chuck.

They got to the front of the line and ordered funnel cakes. Chuck choose whipped cream and strawberries and Mahnovski choose whipped cream and chocolate sauce. At the cash register, Mahnovski said, "So, um..I'm sort of strapped...can you...?"

"Yeah, sure. Don't worry about it, Lazlo. I got this. Anyway, my buddy owes you ten bucks," said Chuck, as he bought both funnel cakes. They made their way to an empty table and sat.

Chuck said, taking out his phone, "So, here, let me show you what I did with the app."

Mahnovski said, "How long did it take you?"

"Overnight," said Chuck.

"What? Dude, you must be brilliant. That's crazy fast. How many re-writes after beta?"

"None. It worked," said Chuck.

"You wrote it overnight and got it right on the first try? And you're a college dropout? You're at risk, man. Performance like that and you'll end up in a bunker like me."

"Maybe I should call a lawyer too," said Chuck.

"I don't know about that. Hey, what did you call this thing again?"

"Funnel cake," said Chuck.

"Looks good, Chuck. I'm looking forward to it," said Mahnovski cheerfully as he put his face straight down into the whipped cream and chocolate sauce and stayed there.

Chuck looked up and said, "Hi, Case. Hi, Fitz."

Casey plucked the tranquilizer dart from the back of Mahnovski's neck and said, "Hey, kid. You good?"

"Yeah. No worries," said Chuck.

"Hey, Carmichael. You miss me?" asked Fitz.

"Yeah, but my aim's improving," said Chuck with a smile, giving Fitz a fist bump. Fitz groaned at the bad joke.

Casey and Fitz each grabbed an arm of the unconscious Mahnovski and Casey asked Chuck, "Are you gonna to help us?"

"Case, I just got a funnel cake. With strawberries. I'm not leaving it here. If you want to wait until I finish it, I'll help you then. Or you can go get your own funnel cakes and sit with me. He's not going anywhere," said Chuck, gesturing to the unconscious Mahnovski, still face down in whipped cream.

"Naw. You go ahead and relax while Fitz and I do the real work. Don't feel guilty."

"Ok," said Chuck with a smile. "Thanks, I won't," as he began to eat his funnel cake and strawberries.

As they were carrying away Mahnovski, Chuck heard Fitz tell Casey, laughing, "Well, that reverse psychology didn't work too well, Major."

Casey just grunted.

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A/N2: Surprise. That's it. That's the whole arc for Mahnovski. (I can't even call it an "arc", maybe "incident" would be a better word to use.) I hope nobody's too disappointed. To my way of thinking, the driving force for the action in the "Sandworm" episode in canon was Chuck's distrust of the government in general and his handlers in particular (maybe with a little naivete sprinkled in). That distrust is entirely absent in my little AU. Chuck and Sarah are totally in love (although they haven't said so to each other yet) and Chuck's feelings about Casey are entirely positive. Even Graham and Beckman have been pretty decent to him so far. There's zero chance Mahnovski could lead Chuck to lose faith in those people, no matter what he said. I thought about wandering off into a different type of story with this episode, but I didn't think it would fit this world I've been working in. I received some great advice from David Carner, as usual, to stay true to the world I've made. (Thanks again, buddy. You're the best.) So that's it for Mahnovski. He's back in stir, probably in a psych ward. Starting next chapter, we visit Stanford, San Francisco, and points north.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Welcome back, everybody. I guess that's sort of presumptuous of me, isn't it? I mean, some of you might be here for the first time. If that's the case, just welcome. This is the start of the Stanford arc, loosely based on episode 7 from the first season of the show. Really loosely. But those of you returning know me by now, and can fully expect that we are going to wander off to God knows where before the arc is over.

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"No way. Forget it. Not happening," said Sarah vehemently.

"You know, you sound very closed off about this idea," said Chuck.

"Oh, I know, buster. I know," said Sarah.

"I think it would be funny," said Casey.

"Thank you," said Chuck in reply.

"Stay out of this, Casey," said Sarah. "Maybe I'll have you put on a skimpy metal bikini and wear it out in public."

"It's not public, it's Comicon," Chuck said, ignoring the look she threw his way. "There'll be hundreds of people in costumes there. Cosplay is huge," said Chuck.

"I understand, but I'm not interested in being a center of attention," she said.

"But you look so good in the bikini. You didn't mind at the Halloween party," he wheedled.

"That was different. That was among friends. And anyway, did you see how Awesome was dressed? Almost dressed? That certainly took the edge off of any embarrassment I might have felt."

"OK. Never mind then," he conceded.

"I still think it would be funny. I'd love to see it. You'd have to wade through nerd drool," said Casey.

"Wait, are you telling me you want to go to a comic book convention with us next summer? Cause that's what I thought I heard." asked Chuck.

"No, I didn't say that..."

They had finished breakfast in Chuck's apartment, apple and goat cheese omlettes prepared by Sarah, and Chuck and Casey were doing the dishes. Sarah had mentioned the nice picture of the two of them together in their costumes at the Halloween party. That triggered Chuck trying to talk her into wearing the metal bikini to Comicon in San Diego the following summer.

"I tell you what, Sarah" said Chuck, "For Comicon, I'll dress as slave Leia and you dress as Han Solo and we'll see how it goes. We'll get Morgan to dress as Chewie."

They had already handled the morning routine, seeing if Chuck flashed on any of the evening's traffic, read the day's newspapers and eaten breakfast. After clean-up, it was off to their cover jobs.

Sarah started to laugh at the thought. "Now that will be funny. You'd really do that? You'd wear the bikini?"

"Sure. Why not? So, it's embarrassing...so what? It's not like I have a reputation to protect. We'll just have to try to find one in my size."

Still laughing, she leaned over to kiss him. "You're such a goof..." Sarah was interrupted by a tone from the computer. A video conference was opening.

Without too much by way of preliminaries, the TV came to life to show Beckman and Graham. "Good morning, Team. We have a situation," said Beckman, with a sour look at Graham. "A CIA asset has gone missing. We've had no communication from him for two days." The CIA file appeared onscreen, showing George Fleming.

"Chuck," said Graham, "we know you're familiar with Fleming."

"No way," said Chuck a little breathlessly.

"What? Did you flash?" asked Sarah.

"No. I don't have to. That guy was my professor at Stanford. Wait...asset?...He's CIA? My professor was a spy?"

"The CIA recruits on campuses all around the country. Professor Fleming is a company scientist, not an operative," said Graham. "This is our last communication from him."

From the TV came Fleming's voice, sounding frantic. "This is Glass Castle reporting hostile contact. I made a mistake, Black Code. I copied intel for myself onto a disc. They're after it. I know I shouldn't have." There was a bang noise and the recording ended.

"Do we know what intel he copied?" asked Sarah.

"We don't," said Beckman.

"He's handled many sensitive projects for us over the years. Any leak could prove devastating," said Graham.

"How can we help?" asked Casey.

"We need you to head up to Palo Alto and try to find him and the intel he downloaded. Our Stanford CIA liaison has been alerted and has notified campus security of your arrival. They will not be an issue. Chuck, your knowledge of Fleming and Stanford may be key here. We only have his official reports. You have the personal connection."

"I do have a personal connection, a very bad personal connection. You have the files. You know all about Fleming and what happened to me. The guy kicked me out of school."

"I understand, Chuck. The guy's either an asshole or a tool. Maybe both. We got that. I'm not asking you to like him or buy him dinner. I'm asking you to help us find him," said Graham in his deep gravelly voice. "When you find him and the intel, you have my permission to punch him in the face."

"I understand, Sir. But going back to Stanford...Sir, I'd rather not...I,,"

Graham sighed heavily and leaned toward the camera, leaning in to Chuck. "Chuck, about twenty, twenty-five years ago, I was on a three man op in Beirut. The op went sideways and the rest of my team was killed. I was taken by Hezbullah and beaten for a week before the Israelis rescued me. I've been back to Beirut six times since then. I have nightmares for a week before and at least a week after each trip. I hate that fucking city, Chuck. But you know what?"

"You keep going back … because it's your job. And if you can go back to Beirut, I can go back to Stanford..." Chuck sighed. "Ok. I'll go back to Stanford." Sarah looked at him with concern and reached out to hold his hand.

"Thank you, Chuck. We know it's hard for you and we appreciate it," said Graham sincerely.

Chuck gave him a weak smile and a nod.

"It's important we find him quickly. Our intel indicates that he is being hunted. He bolted from his classroom when a man arrived. A witness from his class identified a certain Magnus Einerson. He's an Icelandic spy," said Beckman. A picture of Einerson appeared on the screen.

"Iceland does espionage?" asked Chuck.

"Einerson buys and sells intel to the highest bidder. Iceland is not officially aware of his activities," said Graham. Casey made a scoffing noise.

Sarah said, "Have we talked to anyone who might know where he's gone? Friends? Family?"

Beckman said, "We have. No one knows anything, or at least they won't tell us anything. That's a dead end."

"Any evidence Einerson caught him? That he was taken?" asked Chuck.

"No," said Graham. "Obviously, if he was taken, your job is much harder. If he's still in the wind, you stand a better chance of tracking him down. After all, he's not an operative and shouldn't be able to disappear without a trace. Not without training and resources," said Graham.

"See what you can find out at Stanford," said Beckman. "We've arranged for a CIA plane to be waiting for you at Bob Hope Airport. You can fly yourselves up. Good luck, team." The connection was cut.

Chuck let out a long sigh. Sarah squeezed his hand and said, "This one is going to be hard on you, Chuck. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Yeah, this is going to suck. I mean...the Director is right. If he can go to Beirut, I guess I can go to Stanford...it's, well, it's gonna suck. Getting kicked out of Stanford was the worst day of my life. Between that and Jill taking up with Bryce I went into a tailspin that I didn't pull out of ...well, until you arrived, until you both arrived. But look, if we have to go there to find Fleming, let's do it, I guess." He was much more subdued than normal. He sounded sad, even. The mission was obviously weighing on him.

"I'm going to get some gear," said Casey, leaving the apartment and his partners alone. Once he was gone, Sarah wrapped Chuck in a soft hug and lightly stroked his back.

"Thanks," he said.

She kissed him gently and rubbed her hand on his cheek, looking deep into his brown eyes, "We're here for you. Casey and I both. We're here for you. I know this is going to be hard, but we'll face it together."

"I know. Thank you," he said. "I don't know what I would do without you. These past few months...well, everything has changed. You've changed everything for me. Thank you, Sarah."

Still holding him she put her head onto his chest and murmured into his neck, "Right back at ya, sweetie. Right back at ya." She kissed him again and said, "Ok?"

"Yeah. I'm ok. Let's do it."

"Ok," said Sarah. "Let's get ourselves together."

They changed out of their respective uniforms, threw some gear and clothes into bags and met Casey at the Crown Vic.

Chuck sat in the back with his computer in his lap, using a secure encrypted Internet connection, and began to run through the available databases on George Fleming. As they were doing this on the run, he was updating them on his findings as they went. He had to force himself to pay attention to his task, as he found his mind drifting back to his time at Stanford and, particularly, his last days there. Those musings were almost physically painful to him.

George Fleming was childless and a lifelong bachelor. Parents dead. One brother, an accountant in St. Louis, and one sister, a homemaker in Waco, Texas. He didn't appear to have any hobbies or interests outside of work. He had received his PhD from Fordham and had taught at Stanford for the previous seventeen years. His field was neurology and psychology. Chuck had taken his Psychology and Symbolism class.

He had worked as a CIA asset and scientist for almost twenty years beginning when he was a graduate student in New York. His work for the Agency dealt with various projects over the years, everything from interrogation techniques to psych profiles of foreign leaders to prototype work along the lines of the Intersect. It seems a certain amount of recruitment was also part and parcel of his portfolio. Chuck scanned the names of the people he had recruited for the CIA and recognized one of them from his time at Stanford.

They arrived at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank and drove through the gate to the general aviation section of the facility. The plane that had been reserved for them was a Piper PA-30 Twin Comanche, a sleek two engine aircraft that looked fast merely sitting on the tarmac. They left Sarah at the terminal office to file a flight plan, and drove directly to the plane. As Chuck and Casey began to move gear from the Crown Vic to the luggage compartment under the plane, Sarah handled the paperwork. Finishing that, she joined them in the aircraft parking area and approached the plane itself with a huge grin

Casey said to Chuck quietly, "The way she looks at that plane, you should be jealous."

"Yeah. No shit. If it could make her laugh, I'd ask you to kill it," Chuck replied.

Sarah walked once around the plane slowly, looking at it carefully. Chuck said to Casey, "She's really admiring it."

"Naw, kid. That's part of the pre-flight check any pilot does before a flight. You usually can't see it, but even every airline pilot does the same thing, even for a jumbo jet. It's all the pilot's responsibility, so you walk around once to make sure everything looks like what it's supposed to. There's nothing broken or leaking or hanging off or something."

Sarah walked up to the plane and unscrewed something on the wing. She looked inside.

"What's she doing?"

"Checking fuel. We should have full tanks," said Casey.

"Plane's don't have fuel gauges?" asked Chuck.

"Sure, they do. But the pilot always checks visually too. Running out of gas at ten thousand feet really, really sucks."

Sarah repeated the check on the other fuel tank on the other wing. Casey went around the plane, untying it from the steel loops embedded in the tarmac, leaving the ropes still connected to the ground.

Eventually, they were ready to board. There was only one door located on the right side of the frame, and they had to step on the wing in order to clamber into the plane. Chuck went in first and sat in the back, twisting his tall body sideways to give his legs a little more room. Sarah next, moving over to the left seat, the pilot's seat, in the cockpit. Casey entered last, taking the right hand co-pilot's seat, and secured the door closed. Like Sarah, Casey was a pilot, but she enjoyed it so much he let her fly the plane. All three donned headsets, enabling them to communicate with each other easily even over the noise of the engines.

Casey helped Sarah run through a checklist of items once the plane's engines were started up. Sarah spoke to ground control and began to taxi the plane toward the active runway. There wasn't too much of a wait for them to take off. Once airborne, Sarah retracted the landing gear up into the belly of the plane.

Chuck was fascinated and wanted to continue to pay attention to Sarah and Casey and the process of flying, but knew that he should be disciplined and get back to work. She was so competent and professional and super cool, he found it incredibly sexy. Back to work. His internet connection was still secure and strong and Sarah had assured him that he should have a signal on the way up, although she couldn't guaranty that it would be strong and continuous. He got back to checking on Fleming. The flight would last two hours or so and he intended to put it to good use.

He checked the man's phone records, email, medical history, bank records, credit card usage, and investment accounts. There was no activity on his cell phone, not even the ping of its location (he must have it turned off). Nothing recent on his credit cards nor any large cash withdrawls. Chuck activated the GPS on Fleming's car and located it in a Stanford parking lot. The man might not be a spy, but he knew better than to drive around town in his own car and wave to the traffic cameras. Chuck read the reports of the work he had done for the CIA. He read the academic papers Fleming had written.

There was no hint as to where he might be hiding or what he did with the downloaded intel. No evidence that he might have been taken by Einerson either.

How did he leave campus if his car was still there? Chuck accessed Fleming's Uber account and saw a ride at about the right time from the campus into the central business district of San Jose. From there he could have gone in any direction, as the Amtrak station was just a few blocks away from where he had been dropped off. Well, at least that was evidence he hadn't been immediately taken by Einerson. But still no direction as to where he was now.

He filled in his partners on his frustration and said, with a sigh, "I'm going to start on friends and family now. I've struck out on Fleming himself."

"Don't," said Sarah. "You can't look at their stuff."

"Sure, I can. I can get it up..."

"No, you can't, Chuck. They're American citizens and that would be an illegal search without a warrant."

"What?" he asked. "You mean we have to go to a judge. I mean, I've heard of this..."

"It's called the FISA court, kid," said Casey. "It's in DC. Created by the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. It was set up in '78 to make sure we don't spy on Americans following Nixon and Watergate. It handles questions of domestic surveillance in intelligence matters. Fleming is different. He's CIA and his contract gives us the right to his info. We can't get to other people's info without a warrant."

"If we go to court, won't everyone know we want to look at them?" said Chuck

"No," said Sarah. "The FISA court is secret. No one will know."

"Will it take a long time?" asked Chuck.

"Naw, kid. They can expedite the review. It's pretty quick," said Casey.

"What's the chance we get the warrants? Will they approve it?"

"Oh, yeah. I can't remember the last time they turned one down. It's pretty much a no-brainer. Gotta do it though," said Casey.

"So, what do we do?" asked Chuck.

"When we land call Beckman and ask her to get you a FISA warrant...warrants... on the people you are interested in," said Sarah.

"Ok," said Chuck. He took a few minutes assembling the list of targets, names, addresses, phone numbers, birthdays (if he could find them).

Sarah said, "Ok, we have to put this discussion on the table for a little bit, guys. We are getting to Palo Alto and I have to deal with some folks to get us down. Palo Alto is a very busy airport."

For the next fifteen minutes she was busy talking to the Palo Alto tower and following their instructions for approach and landing. Chuck thought it was a very smooth landing. She's so awesome, he thought. Coming off the active runway she stopped and switched frequencies to ground control. Casey cancelled their flight plan, now that they had landed safely. They taxied to a designated area and parked the aircraft. Climbing out, Casey tied the plane down using the ropes waiting in the parking spot and chocked the wheels. Chuck went to get the car that had been left for them by the local CIA office, a large black SUV. By the time he had returned, Casey and Sarah had unpacked the gear and locked up the plane.

Chuck took out his phone and called Beckman. She understood immediately and, after taking down the information, promised to get the lawyers started immediately. Given the danger to Fleming, she intended to have the submission done on an emergency basis.

Searches of Fleming's house, car and office were the first order of business. They decided to go to Fleming's house first, as it was located between the airport and Stanford in the residential Palo Alto neighborhood appropriately called Professorville. Casey was very vocal in his opinion that any place with that name would be filled with nothing but ivory-tower commies. A few streets in from Embarcadero Road, they found Fleming's house.

It was one of the smallest houses on the block, appropriate for a bachelor. The green lawn was tidy and the house looked neat. They approached the house and went around to the back door. It only took a minute for Sarah to pick the lock and let them in to the house. After a cursory search to make sure that Fleming wasn't in the house (and no one hunting Fleming was in the house), they prepared themselves to begin a thorough search. But Casey stopped them. "Why don't you and Chuck head to the Stanford office and search that? You can leave me and pick me up again after you finish. There's no computer here, so Chuck's skills aren't being put to any good use. We can save time if we split up."

"Ok," said Sarah. "That makes sense. You good with that, Chuck?"

"Sure. Be safe, Case."

"You too, kid."

They left Casey in Fleming's house and began to drive to Stanford campus, just a short trip away.

Chuck had been dreading this. He was silent and wore a look like his stomach hurt. Sarah saw it and felt terrible for him. Desperately wishing with all her heart that there was some way to make his pain go away, she reached out and held his hand. His palm was sweaty, a sure sign of nerves. He gave her a wan smile and said, "I wanted to go to Stanford ever since I knew what a college was. It was the only school I was interested in. I mean, I applied to others, but I didn't care about them. I knew it was a long shot...a long shot to be admitted... it was more than that though, cause I needed a full scholarship. We didn't have any money. It's how Ellie paid for college, with a scholarship, and I knew I'd have to do the same. If not for a scholarship, I'd never have been able to afford college. I totally worked my ass off in high school, just to go to Stanford. And there it was, one day I found out I got in with the scholarship. You have no idea how happy I was. How happy Ellie was. Elated. This was it now. Like Ellie, I was going to be ok. We were going to be ok. She was going to be a doctor and I was going to be a computer guy."

Sarah had pulled the car over and parked it. She reached out and hugged Chuck as he spoke. He hugged her back, but his eyes were focused thousands of miles away, or many years ago. "We had a big party before I left. Morgan bought me a going away present. And then I got here and Stanford was everything I expected and more. The classes were great, really interesting and cool. I was learning so much. Totally cutting-edge stuff. The professors were just the smartest people I'd ever met, and so engaging and generous. I made friends. Bryce, fraternity brothers. Other nerds like me. I had a girlfriend I thought I loved. Life could not possibly get any better. I was going to graduate with a double major, electrical engineering and computer science. Maybe even with honors, if my final grades held up. Everything was going to be great."

"And then... " His voice cracked with emotion. "...and then Bryce fucked me over and everything turned to shit. I was expelled. Jill dumped me like I was radioactive and started to sleep with Bryce. That's it. I was out. It was over. Back living with my sister, who was now a doctor, and her awesome boyfriend. She had climbed out of the shithole that was her life, but me...nope, I was right back in it. Everything crumbled. All my dreams turned to nothing. All my hard work...and I had worked really, really hard... was for shit. I had no dreams left. Nothing. Why should I dream? Why should I plan? The only thing left for me to do was put one foot in front of the other. Go to work at the Buy More with Morgan. Fix computers. Bide my time until...until I don't know what. I guess I could apply for the Assistant Manager position at the store. Maybe that's my dream. I don't know."

Sarah was almost in tears as she said, "No, no, no. That was yesterday, Chuck. This is today. That's not you. Not anymore. Look at the last few months. Look at what you've done. Your first day working with us, your first day, you saved a thousand people at Union Station...and that had jack shit to do with the Intersect. That was just you. I'm telling you, sweetie, there's nothing you can't do if you want to. Nothing. You're amazing and wonderful and brilliant and just so damn good. Stanford is full of a bunch of idiots and, one day soon, they are going to regret the shit out of what they did. You'll see," Sarah said, fiercely, all while rubbing his back.

He gave her a weak smile. "Thanks, Sarah. I'm sorry to get all whiny about ...this place. It's just that it's really, really hard for me to see it. To be here and be reminded of all the happiness and then that day when it all came crashing down. I'm not a bitter person, not really, but I feel pretty bitter about this. If Stanford were a guy, I'd like to punch it in the face. Really hard. They didn't believe me. I'd never been in trouble, never had more than an overdue library book, and they didn't believe me. Dean Carroll took Bryce's word over mine." His voice cracked with emotion once again. "Sorry. I know we have work to do and here I am having a little melt down...sorry. Can you imagine what Casey would say if he saw this?" He gave a quiet bark of laughter.

"It's ok, Chuck." She rubbed his back a bit and gently kissed his cheek. "It's ok."

He took a deep breath and said, "Ok. Thanks, Sarah. Thanks. Let's do this. Let's find Fleming and get the hell out of here, ok? I'm ready."

She gave him a tender kiss on his lips and looked into his eyes with unspoken love. Seeing him nod and give her a half smile she pulled back to begin driving to Stanford again. Embacadero Road turned into Galvez Street and curved around to the left to run around the Stadium as they entered the campus.

Stanford was designed in a California Mission theme style with tan sandstone brick, red tile roofs and open archways. The campus, over eight thousand acres, was a beautiful location. With the sunshine and blue skies, it was easy for Sarah to see how people would love it. It was so open and spread out with green grass and groves of trees. So different from where she had gone to school.

Chuck directed her through the campus to the parking lot where Fleming had left his car when he fled Einerson. After cruising the lot for a few minutes, they spotted his car.

Finding an open parking spot, Sarah parked the SUV. She said, touching her watch, "Casey, we're at the parking lot and going to check Fleming's car. How's it going there?"

"Making progress, but haven't found anything yet. In addition to everything else, there're a million books here to look through so I'll be here all day. Don't worry about me."

"Roger that," said Sarah.

"Why does he have to look at all Fleming's books?" asked Chuck.

"If you wanted to hide papers, what better place than in a book? He'll have to shake out the pages of each book and, for the hardcovers anyway, check the gap between the cover and the bound pages along the spine. It takes a while."

"Ah," said Chuck.

They approached Fleming's car, a blue Chevy Tahoe. Sarah motioned for Chuck to stop. She walked around the car studying it the way she had studied the aircraft before they flew up to Palo Alto. "What are you looking for?"

She said, "Just trying to see if anyone was messing with it. Anything that looks wrong." She bent down and lay on her back on the ground next to the car. Scooting over, she looked under the car and into the engine compartment.

"Looking for anything out of the ordinary?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah. Or a bomb," she replied.

"Oh, Jeez," he said.

"Looks clear to me," she said.

Sarah stood up and took a small device out of her pocket and touched the lock on the driver's side door. The door unlocked. "Well, that's cool." said Chuck.

"They don't give these out to just anyone, you know," said Sarah with a smile.

She opened all the doors and she and Chuck began to search the car. The glove compartment had the usual registration and insurance paperwork, a paper map of the entire Bay Area, a flashlight with dead batteries, a tire pressure gauge and a half full box of TicTacs. They checked the door compartments, under the seats, under the floor mats, above the sun visors. Between the seats they found an empty water bottle. The back compartment contained a lug wrench, a tennis racket, a pair of old sneakers and an empty plastic bag from a nearby supermarket. Nothing to help them find Fleming or the intel.

"Ok. No joy here. Let's head to his office," Sarah said, locking up the car.

"Right. It's a bit of a hike, but it's through..."

A big, jovial voice behind them said, "Wow, my lucky day. Agent Sarah Walker. The star of the CIA. And you must be Carmicheal. Hey, guys."

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A/N2: Thanks for everyone following along. Please review or PM me or something. Love to hear from you all.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: My last chapter didn't include the statement that I don't own Chuck. I'm sure you were all confused by that, and considered the possibility that I had suddenly acquired Chuck. No such luck. But, just to be sure, for this chapter I must double down. So, I still don't own Chuck, but two times now.

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A big, jovial voice behind Chuck and Sarah said, "Wow, my lucky day. Agent Sarah Walker. The star of the CIA. And you must be Carmichael. Hey, guys."

They spun to face the speaker. Sarah's hand had moved slightly, so that she could draw her gun instantly if need be. The speaker was a tall, fat man in his forties, brown hair and brown eyes twinkling with humor. He was wearing khakis, a blue polo shirt stretched tight and a gray sports jacket. Slung over one shoulder was a beat-up messenger bag. He didn't move, but he had clearly seen Sarah's defensive posture.

She relaxed as she recognized him with a sudden smile, "Hello, Jim." She stepped forward to give him a quick hug. "Chuck, this is Jim Mead. Jim, Charles Carmichael. We call him Chuck."

Chuck shook the man's hand and said, "How do you do?" Chuck noted that while he was certainly overweight, his hand was hard.

"Much better now that I've seen you two. Things here are truly boring," he said, smiling.

"Chuck, Jim is one of us. CIA. We met in...well, we met a couple of years ago. What are you doing here, Jim?"

"Oh, come on, Sarah. You're kidding, right? You can't swing a dead cat around here without running into a CIA agent...or FSB, or MSS, or whatever. It's like Lisbon in the '40's." He laughed loudly at his own joke. "I'm supposed to be a mid-level State Department drone, sent here to take some International Relations courses and meet some of the other IR students. But come on, let's walk and talk. Which way are you heading?"

"We're going to Jordan," said Chuck. The three of them began to walk, Sarah allowing the other two to lead the way.

"Where they keep the psychology department. So, you guys just went through Fleming's car. I'm not a genius, but ...whatever. Good luck finding him. Call if you need a hand."

"You know about Fleming?" asked Sarah.

"Sure. After he split some of the local Agency idiots, the kids, came by to ask a bunch of questions. Interview witnesses...that sort of thing. They clued in me and the other Company people on campus, but none of us knew what he was up to or where he might be hiding. Keep our eyes open, that sort of thing. But nothing. Sorry."

"How many other Agency guys on campus?" asked Chuck.

"Probably about a dozen or so, spread among all the schools of the University. Anyway, I'm guessing that Graham called you guys to fly up from LA when Fleming didn't surface after a couple of days. See what you superstars could unearth."

"Superstars, Jim? You flatter us," asked Sarah, with a hint of embarrassment.

"Oh, come on, Sarah. It's not like there's a press release or something, but you know the Company grapevine. You guys are burning it up. Andric, La Ciudad, that Triad thing you just pulled off. Anyone not jealous is starstruck. Maybe some are both." He turned to Chuck and said, with good humor and a twinkle in his eye, "And you seem to be a fucking whiz-kid." Chuck looked embarrassed. Mead clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Enjoy it now, Chuck. One day you'll fuck up and hope like hell they remember the past successes." He said it chuckling, but Chuck sensed a real message being conveyed.

"But you asked a different question. What am I doing here? In the spring I had a rough mission in...well, in the field. Graham sent me here to recuperate. But now I'm bored and hoping to convince him to let me get back out in the field again when the semester ends.

"So, here's the deal. We've been hitting on academia since Donovan set up the OSS. All of us alphabet guys, CIA, NSA, DIA, FBI, all of us, have people here. Pentagon. State Department. Everybody. And not just Stanford. All the top schools have cohorts of intelligence folks. The smarts of the academic community is the main draw, but some of us come for the activity by the watering hole. Free flow of information is the life blood of places like this. Is it any surprise you would find guys like us here? After 9-11 schools are much more open to us. And, with globalization, the number of foreign students studying here is huge and growing. Students like that pay full freight, so schools love them. I'm here to recruit some of the foreign ministry students from Russia or China or wherever."

He started to laugh, which seemed to be his normal approach to life. "Of course,...well, early in the semester I spent six weeks seducing one of the Russian guys. It was going so well. Fucking awesome." He was laughing and sparkling with the humor of his story. "Came time to make the pitch. I got all ready. Took him to a nice, quiet place in Palo Alto to pop the question. And..."

Chuck said, "Yeah?"

"He asked me first," Mead said, laughing his ass off. His belly shaking with mirth. "He asked me. He wasn't Foreign Ministry. He was FSB. He thought he was recruiting me, while I thought I was recruiting him. Two fat old spies just wasting each other's time. Stupid shit. That kind of thing happens all the time here now. Let me tell you, when we realized what had happened, we got totally shitfaced drunk and I don't even remember which one of us paid the bill. I was hung over for a week."

"Do you recruit American's too?" asked Chuck.

"Oh, sure," said Mead. "Graduate students in Islam, the Middle East, IR guys, the sciences, you name it. Foreign born citizen academics who might have contacts in their country of origin. We have interest in all those guys. And gals. Sometimes as assets. Sometimes to come work for us. Spies. Analysts. Whatever."

"Undergraduates too?"

"Not really. We have a pretty extensive internship program, but you need your degree to be hired as a spy or analyst. We get the internship kids doing open source stuff. Civilians underestimate the amount of open source information we mine. Newspapers, interviews, websites, government reports, speeches, all kinds of stuff. It all has to be read, cataloged and analyzed.

"We talent spot though, for sure. Find kids we want to hire when they graduate. Kids with potential. Smart kids good with languages. Athletic. Like that. We might even sign them up before graduation. But we wait for them to graduate before we bring them on board for real...before their job really starts...their hardcore training. You don't think we'd really turn college kids into spies, right? What, they are going to have machine guns under their beds in their dorms? For God's sake, most of them can't even legally buy beer.

"But foreign undergraduates? As assets? For sure. Some kid from China or something. We think we can recruit him or her? For sure. Think about the Cambridge five. The Soviets got them all when they were undergrads and Philby turned into one of the most successful spies in history. You can bet that the enemy services are busy trying to recruit our undergrads. Semester abroad? Perfect time really."

They turned onto a wide walkway leading to Jordan Hall up a few steps. Stopping on the checkerboard of tiles on the covered walkway, Mead said, "You want to go in here." He flashed his student ID on the pad by the door to unlock it for Sarah and Chuck. "There you go."

"Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it," said Sarah.

"No worries, girl. Good luck."

"You too, Jim. Take care of yourself."

He shook hands with Chuck and gave Sarah a hug. He turned to leave. Stopping himself, he turned back, "Listen, it's lunch time and I was going to get a sandwich. I didn't get to be this size by fasting. You guys are going to be searching Fleming's office. Want me to bring you both some lunch? I'll meet you in there in twenty minutes or so, if you're interested. There's a place just on the other side of the building to get food. I promise not to get in your way."

Sarah really didn't want to waste any time today, but she was hungry. She glanced at Chuck who gave a shrug that said, sure, why not. "Ok, Jim. Thanks." She gave him her number, so he could tell them what was on the menu and disappeared around the corner.

They went in to the building and looked for Fleming's office. Chuck said, "What's the story with Jim?'

"Nothing too crazy. He's been a spy for years. Maybe not as long as we've been alive, but close. I met him on a mission. He was good...a good spy. He convinced … a bad guy, to be less bad and saved the entire mission. He's a great choice to hang around here and recruit foreign assets. He could charm the socks off anybody. You're not jealous, are you?" she asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Naw, I was just curious. Why? Should I be jealous?"

"I don't know, he's kind of cute," said Sarah, teasingly.

"I guess, if you have a daddy complex," said Chuck.

"Ughhh," said Sarah.

They found Fleming's office. Chuck looked pretty unhappy to be there. This was where he'd been accused of cheating on Fleming's test. The office was unexceptional. A messy desk, a few bookshelves packed with volumes, an old-fashioned rolodex, a computer. Pointing at the desk, Chuck said, "Oh, I forgot that."

"What?" asked Sarah.

"Look at the name plate on his desk," Chuck said.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"They misspelled his name. The nameplate has Fleming spelled with two M's. That's a mistake."

"Huh. Weird that he just lived with it," she said.

"Yeah. We thought so too. Never did get a decent explanation though." He dropped his messenger bag to the floor by the desk. "So, I'll start on the computer and you start on the rest?"

"Sounds good," she said.

Chuck sat at the desk in Fleming's chair and pushed the button to boot up the computer. Sarah said, "Don't you need Fleming's password or something?"

"Nope," Chuck said while holding down the F8 key. "It's running Windows XP. I got this covered."

"What do you mean? Special nerd secrets?"

"Oh, not that secret. I'm just opening the computer in Safe Mode."

Sarah's phone rang and Jim and Sarah talked about the lunch order while she flipped through the papers on Fleming's desk. Finishing on the phone, she said, "So what does Safe Mode mean?"

"It means I can log in as an Administrator to the system. And...I just removed Fleming's password. Now I'm restarting the computer. And...we're in."

"Oh, come on. You're kidding me, right? It can't be that easy to get into a password protected computer."

"Sorry, sweetie. Here, take a look." Chuck swiveled the screen around so Sarah could see that they were, in fact, into Fleming's computer.

"That's just wrong," she said, shaking her head.

Mead arrived with sandwiches. He offered to leave the sandwiches and them to their work, but Sarah indicated he could stay. As the three of them began to eat, Mead started to gossip with Sarah about Langley. He was telling stories about people Chuck didn't know. Who was assigned where. Who got a promotion. Who got a divorce or had an affair. Who had quit to take a job in the private sector. Many of Mead's observations seem to have been pretty funny, but Chuck found it tough to be entertained when he didn't know the people being discussed. Chuck kept working on Fleming's computer while eating his lunch.

Eventually he shut down the computer. Sarah looked up in surprise. Mead said, "You're done already?"

"Yup. Nothing here. All the files have been erased," said Chuck.

"So? You tech guys know how to retrieve deleted information from a hard drive. Even I know that," said Mead.

"Not this one. It's been scrubbed." Seeing the look on their faces he continued, "If you delete a file from your hard drive, you essentially removed the address from the index. The file is gone from the list of files, but it's still on the hard drive waiting to be written over. If it were a book, the page still has the writing on it, but is marked to be overwritten when you need a blank page to write on. If you really, really want to wipe a hard drive, other than physically destroying it with a sledge hammer or something, you have to overwrite the whole thing. That's what happened here, probably multiple times. All random ones and zeros. Nobody is ever going to figure out what used to be here. The hard drive is as clean as if it came out of the factory. Totally scrubbed."

"Ah," said Mead. "Well, that's that. Sorry for you. Your job just got harder. Looks like you guys will have to do it the old-fashioned way. Old school." Throwing away the remains of his lunch, Mead said, "Good luck to you both. I'll get out of your hair. Let me know if you need some help. I'm bored here and would jump at some action."

Once again, he hugged Sarah and shook hands with Chuck. Mead left them alone to search the rest of the office.

Chuck and Sarah continued to search thoroughly. They discovered the cameras and microphones of a recording system. Chuck dreaded the idea that his last meeting with Fleming might have been recorded. They looked through the drawers, files, and books. Underneath desk drawers and bookshelf shelves and the rug. Inside the pockets and linings of the jackets in the closet. Checked the globe for hidden compartments. In the closet they found the trap door escape route that Fleming seems to have used. It was actually an old maintenance hatch for the boiler in the building's basement, with exits from there to the rest of campus.

After several hours, they called Casey. "How are you doing?" asked Sarah.

"Close to finished. Coming up empty, though. You?"

"About the same," she said. "We'll come back to get you."

"Right."

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That night Chuck and Sarah lay in their hotel room bed wrapped around each other as breathing and heartrates return to normal. She, Chuck and Casey had established themselves in a two-bedroom Palo Alto hotel suite, ordered in room service for dinner and spent frustrating hours thinking and discussing Fleming's possible current whereabouts.

They had established a plan for the morning, though. They intended to head to San Jose and pick up the trail where Fleming had been dropped by the Uber. See if there was anything there that might provide a clue.

Chuck said, a little hesitantly, "Sarah, sweetie, can I ask you to think about something?"

"Sure. Good timing, cause I wasn't doing much thinking a little while ago," she said with a little smirk, planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Well, here's the thing. You and I have only been a couple for a few months and it's really, really great. I want to be around you, with you, all the time..."

She tensed slightly and said, "But...?"

He chuckled and said, "No. That's the thing. There's no 'but'. I want to be around you all the time. We've slept in the same bed almost every night since we've been together. Those few nights when we didn't, I could barely sleep the emptiness was so awful."

"Me too," she said softly.

"So anyway, that's why I want us to think about taking Mrs. Prommer's apartment together."

"You want me to move in with you?" she asked. She realized that she was a little startled and realized again, a moment later, that she had no right to be startled.

"No. I want us to think about moving in together. I don't want you to move into my apartment. I don't want it to be my space that you come to. I want it to be our space from the beginning. Both of ours. I don't want to take that apartment without you.

"I know there are a ton of practical reasons to do it. It's a two bedroom so there's lots more room. With both our salaries and your housing stipend we can afford it easily. It would be so much more convenient to have all our stuff in one place. It would be useful to have the whole team in one place too, with Casey right across the courtyard. It's closer to our cover jobs than your current place. All sorts of good, practical, sensible reasons. But I don't really care about those. Not really. The real reason is just that I want to be around you. I want to be with you. Not just on dates and stuff, when you are dressed up and have on your make-up. All the time. When you are cranky and smelly and bored. I want to hold you every single night when we sleep. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I'm excited by the thought of watching you decorate our apartment. Our home."

She felt the emotions bubbling up inside her, her intense feelings for him mixed with joy and fear that she was losing control...of herself...of her life...of everything. She thought of her father and his repeated warnings about getting involved ...emotionally... with anyone. She leaned in and kissed him. "I feel the same way, Chuck. It's just...it's a big step, you know. I've...I've never lived with anyone before. I mean, except I had roommates in college, but that's it. I don't know..."

"It's ok," said Chuck, kissing her and rubbing her back. "I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. Just think about it. If it's too soon, I understand. I don't want you to feel that I'm rushing you. I really, really don't. You take all the time you need to think about it. If the landlord leases out this apartment, there'll be another one later. There's no rush."

"Ok. I'll think about it. I promise. It's a good idea," she said, kissing him again. "Now go to sleep. We're getting up for an early run with Casey."

"G'night."

"G'night."

She listened as his breathing slowed and he fell asleep in her arms.

Her thoughts and feelings were chaotic. Joy and warmth mixed with trepidation. Moving in together. Sharing a home with another person. Sharing a home with him. With Chuck. With her Chuck.

Wait a second, back up. Having a home? A home? A real home? She thought for an instant of her apartment in DC. That was where she kept her stuff and it only qualified as a home to that extent. She felt no warmth for it. There was no comfort for her there. It was empty of feelings. Just a place with her stuff. When was the last time she actually had a home? Twenty years ago, maybe? With her mom, before she abandoned it to leave with her father. What if she abandoned a home with Chuck? What if she wasn't made for a home, any home? Like her dad. That realization would be crushing, if it came true. And what would that do to Chuck? What if they moved in together and it didn't work out? If she had to leave? Thinking of the pain that would cause him almost made her groan aloud.

On the other hand, what if it did work out? Chuck was so sweet in wanting it to be their place from the beginning. He was so thoughtful and fun. She really wanted to be around him all the time too. What if it was just as wonderful as her brightest imaginings? What if every morning was filled with sunshine and lo...good feelings? Happiness and warmth? What if she woke up every day smiling? The kind of life that her father would scoff at, if he ever even acknowledged that such a life could be anything other than an elaborate lie...the worst kind of con...a con you pulled on yourself. His views had ingrained themselves into Sarah's psyche so deeply that she had to make a conscious effort to reject them, more and more frequently the last few months.

It would be an enormous risk to rent an apartment with Chuck. Sure, the payoff might be huge, but the potential downside was huge too. Would it be fair to him? Did she have the courage to try? To jump off this particular cliff? She had been outnumbered in gunfights, run into burning buildings, defused bombs, and been in knife fights with maniacs who outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but she fell asleep pondering if she were brave enough to rent an apartment with this man sleeping in her arms.

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A/N2: No single note can possibly explain the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) from World War II and the genius of its founder, General William "Wild Bill" Donovan, but suffice it to say that he tapped academics extensively in his work to set up the forerunner of the CIA. Nor can one note do more than brush the surface of the story of five upperclass British undergrads recruited as spies by the Soviets in the 1930's who eventually made their way twenty years later into the upper ranks of the British government, including Kim Philby who was seriously considered, at one point, to take the top spot in MI-6.

A/N3: The award-winning journalist Daniel Golden recently wrote a book called Spy Schools describing how extensively the Intelligence Community has integrated itself into American higher education. I haven't read the book yet because I've been too occupied reading and writing Chuck fanfiction. (That's not a joke, guys.) However, I heard Golden interviewed a couple of times a few months ago and he has some really interesting things to say. What Mead describes here comes partially from those Golden interviews. This is my nod to canon and the whole "spies on campus" part of the episode.

A/N4: The prop guys dressing Fleming's office didn't coordinate with the visual guys who prepared the dummy CIA file they showed our friends during the initial video conference. So, in canon, either the nameplate on the desk or the CIA's file was wrong in the spelling of Fleming's name. I choose to assume the nameplate was wrong so as not to annoy the good people at the CIA, who scare me.

A/N5: At the bottom of this page is a box. You know what do to.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Hey, if you own Chuck wake up to all the cool stuff happening here on this site. Awake? Good.

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Casey stepped out of the shower to the sound of his ringing phone. Glancing at the screen he answered saying "Casey, secure." He was glad his phone didn't have a video mode activated.

"Beckman, secure. Morning, Major. Where's Chuck?"

"We're just back from PT. All three of us. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I tried his phone, then Agent Walker's phone and neither one of them picked up."

"I guess they're still in the shower."

"Oh, okay...wait...together?...you know what, never mind. I don't want to know," said Beckman, sounding exasperated.

"Welcome to my life," growled Casey, but with a wry smile.

"Tell him the warrants were approved. He has access to the information he wanted."

"Roger that. I'll let him know."

"Right. Good luck."

"Thanks, General."

Moments later, Casey was crossing the common living room wrapped in a towel when the door to the other bedroom opened and Sarah came out in a bathrobe with wet hair.

"Beckman called me and Chuck. Did she get you?"

"Yeah. The FISA warrants were approved. Chuck's good to go on those other searches."

"Ok. Thanks. I'll let him know."

"Leave for San Jose in about a half hour?" asked Casey.

"Sure."

Forty minutes later they were in the SUV and heading towards the highway to San Jose. Chuck was sitting in the back seat, typing on his laptop. Driving time south to San Jose from Palo Alto can be as little as twenty minutes or, depending on traffic, as long as an hour. This trip took almost an hour of stop and go progress. Just as they were arriving, Chuck said, "Turn the car around, Casey. We're going to San Francisco."

"What'd you find, kid?"

"Fleming's brother has a credit card being used there," said Chuck.

"Maybe he's on vacation?" asked Sarah, not really believing that possibility.

"Nope. A different card is being used in St. Louis. He's not in two places at once. My guess is he gave his brother a card to use in case George wanted to drop off the grid."

'Where has it been used?" asked Casey, turning the car around.

"A cash withdrawal at an ATM in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco. Chocolates twice at Ghirardelli's store ..."

"That fits," said Casey. "Fleming has a sweet tooth. I found candy in his home. Chocolate."

"A restaurant called O'Neill's. A pizza place. A handful of other places. I plotted them all on a map. They are all near the Fisherman's Wharf area."

"How about a hotel?" asked Sarah.

"Nope. Maybe he's paying cash or hasn't checked out yet," said Chuck.

"But hotels run a card for incidentals, right?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah," said Casey, "but the fact that they run the card doesn't mean they submit any charges to the credit card company. Not until check out. He could still be there. Kid, what's the most recent charge?"

"From last night, at the Lou's Fish Shack on Jefferson. Again, near the Wharf."

"Ok. Sounds like he decided to hide out in a crowd of tourists. Not the stupidest plan. Stays in the neighborhood and ventures out for food and chocolate. Let's get up there," said Casey.

"Here's the map of the charges." He showed the screen to Sarah, who had twisted around in her seat. The map showed six flags, all at locations around Beach or Jefferson Streets. The farthest inland was in North Beach on Columbus Avenue, the cash withdrawal.

"Other than the chocolates, any place he's hit twice?" asked Sarah.

"No."

"Can you superimpose hotels on that map?" asked Sarah.

"Sure, hold on." He tapped a few keys and there were about a dozen boxes added to the map, scattered around the neighborhood.

"Damn," she said. "Casey, too many to cover statically."

"Ok, we'll have to establish a mobile surveillance in the neighborhood. Try to ID him when he comes out next."

"With maybe a static watch on the chocolate store?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah. Good idea, kid," said Casey.

Sarah studied the map some more. "If we do one of us static at Ghirardelli, we are really thin for the mobile watches. Especially in that crowd of tourists."

"Why don't we call your friend to help?" asked Casey.

"Mead," she said. "Yeah, he'd love the chance for something to do. I'll have him bring one of the other guys with him. With one of us static and four on the move we ought to cover the whole area decently."

"Do you have his number?" asked Casey.

"Yeah, he called me yesterday. I didn't save it, but it will be logged as a recent call."

As they drove up to San Francisco, Sarah got on the phone with Mead. He was enthusiastic about lending a hand and promised to bring another bored Agency spy a pair of extra eyes. They agreed to meet in two hours at the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park near Fisherman's Wharf on the northern edge of the City, only steps from the cold blue waters of the Bay.

They got there with time to spare, got a little lunch from a street vendor and looked around the area, being sure to keep alert for Fleming. The Park held down the western edge of the area, with the white painted Maritime Museum to the far side. Running eastward from the Park were Beach and Jefferson Streets, parallel to each other. Counterintuitively, Jefferson was the one nearer the water. The whole area was less than a mile long, but it was filled with restaurants, small hotels, tee shirt and souvenir shops, and tourist attractions. In any area with sufficient room, street performers entertained the masses for the dollars thrown into their buckets. Crowds of tourists made their way slowly up and down the streets. Fleming should be hiding among them.

The Park at the west side was a relatively quiet green space in the shadow of the giant Ghirardelli sign atop the shopping mall up the hill and across the street from the Park, built on the site of the old Ghirardelli chocolate factory. Seen from blocks away, but especially prominent from the Park, the mall was a big tourist draw, as well as a draw for anyone who enjoyed chocolate, like Fleming.

Right on time, Mead arrived with another agent. The other man, named Reis, was a compact man with thinning blond hair and light eyes. His greetings were monosyllabic, but polite.

"Right," said Casey. "Carmichael will take static watch on the chocolate shop. The rest of us will be mobile. We'll do a circuit of Jefferson-Hyde-Beach-Powell using the cars. Sarah, you take ours and go clockwise. Reis, you go counterclockwise. Mead, you and I will show Fleming's picture to the staff at hotels in the area. Once that's done, unless we get a hit, we stick on Jefferson and walk a circuit. Chuck, Sarah and I have a closed loop communication system." Casey gestured to Mead and Reis. "You guys can keep in touch by cell phones. Let's all exchange numbers." They did so.

"Timing?" asked Reis.

Chuck said, "Based on the hits we've gotten, we can expect him to come out for dinner at the latest. Maybe earlier. The trick will be spotting him."

Casey said, "Intel is that the guy he's hiding from is Magnus Einerson."

Mead said, gruffly, "Icelandic guy? Uses a crossbow? What a tool."

Reis said, "Mmmmm."

"Right. Let's go," said Casey.

Chuck gestured up the hill. "Well, at least I won't go hungry. I can always get some chocolate up there."

"Keep your eyes open, kid. Remember, he might be in disguise, so you'll have to pay attention. You're the only one of us who's seen him in person before," said Casey.

"Disguise?" asked Chuck.

"Sure. A baseball cap and sunglasses combo is the easiest go-to disguise, but he could get clever and do more. Lifts in his shoes to change his height. Bulky clothes to make him look heavier. Too quick for him to have grown a beard, but he could have a fake beard. A wig. Hell, he could be wearing a dress and fake boobs."

"He's not wearing a dress. He's using a man's credit card," said Sarah.

"Fair point," said Chuck. He and Sarah exchanged quick kisses. "Be safe," he said.

"You too, Sweetie," said Sarah.

The bulk of the team began to circle the area. Every half circle, going in different directions, Sarah and Reis would pass each other with a nod. There were more people and activity on Jefferson, but more hotels on Beach. They saw Casey and Mead walking up and down Jefferson, making their way through the crowds of visitors. Mead's genial expression fit in well with the happy visitors. Casey's scowl made him look like he was only visiting Fisherman's Wharf because he'd lost a bet.

Meanwhile, Chuck sat on a bench in front of the chocolate store in the shopping mall. He was just steps away from the street along the eastern edge of the mall, named Larkin Street. The universe certainly had a messed-up sense of humor sometimes, he thought. The bench was next to the archway over the mall entrance spelling out the name Ghirardelli Square.

Chuck pulled his jacket around him. It was a beautiful day, but even in the bright sunshine it was cool, maybe mid 50's. Supposedly, Mark Twain once wrote that the coldest winter he ever saw was one summer in San Francisco. The Bay gave the City its own little micro-climate. The temperature most of the year was in the 50's and 60's whether it was February or August. It was one of the reasons many people loved San Francisco like no other city. Being a southern Cal boy, though, Chuck was slightly chilled and was glad he was able to sit in the sun.

Chuck watched a steady stream of people entering Ghirardelli through one door to his right and leaving through the one directly in front of him. The way he thought about it, where he was sitting he had two chances to see Fleming if he came by to replenish his chocolate supply. If Chuck missed the man entering the store, he would see him leaving, when Fleming would be coming straight out to him and facing him.

It had been about three and a half hours since Chuck had perched on the bench. His butt hurt, but he imagined what Casey would say if he started to complain. He was bored, though.

Touching his watch, he said, "Hey, guys. Anything new?"

"Quiet, Moron. Stay off the channel unless you have something to report."

"You know, you're really rude sometimes, Case. Thought you might want to know that I saw some Marines here just now. Looks like they were buying a bunch of chocolate."

"Could you identify the insignia on their uniforms? Tell what units they were with?"

"Guys," Sarah cut in, "seriously, knock it off. Pay attention."

"Ok," said Chuck.

"Roger that," said Casey.

It was another forty-five minutes or so before the man in a sports jacket and baseball cap left the store with a large bag of chocolates. He stopped right in front of Chuck to take off his clear round glasses and put on his sunglasses. Standing up and touching his watch to set it for continuous transmission to Casey and Sarah, Chuck said, "Afternoon, Professor."

Without any preliminaries, Fleming took off running from a standing start, darting out of the mall onto Larkin Street, heading downhill toward the open green space of the Park. Caught a little by surprise, Chuck grabbed his bag and followed. Chuck's long legs made up the distance quickly. He said, "He's on the run. Heading downhill to the Park." Then, "PROFESSOR. PROFESSOR FLEMING. HEY."

Fleming crossed Beach Street and ran into the Park, starting to angle to the right, presumably to join Jefferson Street and lose himself in the crowds of tourists. Chuck was gaining on him steadily, but worried about the crowds giving him cover. "GLASS CASTLE," Chuck yelled.

Fleming stopped suddenly and turned to look back at Chuck. "Oh," he said, a little out of breath. "Why didn't you tell me you were with the Company?"

"Kinda hard while you are running away, you know," said Chuck

"Wait a minute. I know you."

"Yeah, I'm Chuck Bartowski. You got me kicked out of school. I hope that makes me sort of memorable in your book."

"You're with the Agency now?"

"Part of 'secret agent' is the word 'secret' you know," Chuck said unsmilingly. There wasn't much humor in his voice either. Although he didn't sound hostile, anyone who knew Chuck could sense that he didn't like Fleming at all. "They get mad at me if I start yelling things like that around the Park here."

"Chuck, listen...I'm sorry about..."

Fleming staggered forward into Chuck and Chuck instinctively hugged him, holding him up. "Listen, Professor. I don't think our relationship is at the hugging stage, if you know what I mean. Come on..."

Chuck felt the man's back and found the crossbow bolt sticking out of it. "Oh, shit. Guys we got trouble here. Fleming's been shot in the back with a crossbow bolt..."

He lowered Fleming to the ground. On the way down, Fleming forced into Chuck's hand a slip of paper on which was written,

219

F5U 922

"Get this to Bryce Larkin," Fleming said, as he passed out. Chuck was kneeling next to the body of the wounded Professor.

Chuck looked up and a fierce looking man with short hair that he knew was Magnus Einerson was approaching, loading another bolt into the flight groove of his crossbow. The Icelandic spy looked serious and deadly.

As he approached, Chuck said to him, "Seriously? A crossbow? Look around, Mr. Einerson. It's not exactly a concealed weapon. You're the center of attention, dude." It was true. There were a number of people in the Park looking at Einerson, pointing, and holding up their phones to record events. "They're taking your picture. You're gonna be a YouTube star. Hey, I want to ask you," Chuck said. Einerson was right up to the kneeling Chuck now, towering over him and holding the loaded crossbow into Chuck's face. "Is your sister's last name Einersdottir? Isn't that the way Icelandic names work? You dad's first name was Einer and your son's last name will be Magnusson? Different last name than you. Cause that's what I …." Chuck's eyes shifted to the side and behind Einerson and suddenly widened. He shouted, "NO, DON'T SHOOT HIM..."

Einerson's head twisted to look that way automatically. As he did so, Chuck reached up to the crossbow and snatched the bolt from the groove, pulling it from the leaf spring holding it in place at the back end. Einerson pulled the trigger, but by that time Chuck had lifted the bolt over the top of the string and the string snapped down on empty air. As Chuck threw the bolt over his shoulder, he said to Einerson, trying to keep a tremor out of his voice, "Made ya look."

Einerson studied Chuck for a moment and snarled, "Hlandbrenndu." (An Icelandic imprecation imparting the wish that the recipient should burn from his or her own urine – not one to be uttered in front of grandma.) Then he kicked Chuck in the center of the chest, grabbed the paper with the numbers on it and ran from the Park. Moments later Casey arrived. He immediately moved to Fleming to check out the bolt in his back. Chuck took out his phone.

Casey said, "Yeah, call 911. Let's get him to a hospital."

Chuck waved him off for an instant and said into his phone, still catching his breath from the kick, "2-1-9-F-5-U-9-2-2"

Switching off his phone recorder, he used the phone to actually call emergency services and report on Fleming. Once an ambulance was on the way, he turned back to Casey who was checking on Fleming's breathing.

Sarah had arrived by this point. Chuck reached for the bolt, to pull it from Fleming's back. "No," said Casey, emptying Fleming's pockets.

"But it's in his back..." said Chuck.

"Leave it be, Chuck. With an impalement injury like this you want to leave the object in place for the surgeons to remove," said Sarah.

"It might be the only thing stopping the bleeding," said Casey. "What were those numbers you spoke into your phone?" He held up a room key for a Holiday Inn to show to his partners, then he pocketed it.

"Fleming showed me a paper with those numbers on it before he passed out. He told me to give it to Bryce. Einerson took it when he ran off."

"Bryce? Why Bryce?" asked Sarah, confused.

"If he lives, we can ask him," said Casey. "You okay? Looked like Einerson clocked you pretty good."

"Yeah, I'm ok. His heart wasn't in it." Chuck said while rubbing his chest.

Mead and Reis joined them from different directions. Mead was out of breath.

"Einerson got away. I chased him, but he had a car waiting. Hey, Carmichael, you got some serious stones, kid."

"Umm, thanks," said Chuck, a little embarrassed.

"What did you do, Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"I sort of faked him out a little," said Chuck, sheepishly.

"Damn, son," said Mead. "You can really kill a good story, you know that?" Mead started to laugh. "Einerson's got a loaded crossbow right in his face and Chuck gets him to look away. Then he reaches up and grabs the bolt from the crossbow and throws it away. Einerson is left holding an empty crossbow. It was fucking hysterical, I'm telling you."

Casey and Sarah looked at Chuck with some amused pride and, in Sarah's case, unconcealed love. Casey said, "Good job, kid," clapping him on the shoulder.

The ambulance arrived and two paramedics got out with a stretcher to attend to Fleming. After a rapid and efficient examination and discussion with Casey, Fleming was loaded into the ambulance. With a nod to Sarah and Chuck, Casey climbed into the back of the ambulance with Fleming and the crew. Sarah and Reis went to bring around the cars, leaving Chuck and Mead standing in the Park.

Mead was eating chocolate. He held out the bag, offering one to Chuck.

Chuck started to reach for one and stopped himself, "Isn't that Fleming's chocolate?"

"Yeah," said Mead. "Don't think he needs it now."

Chuck stared at him for a few moments as Mead continued to hold out the bag. After a bit Chuck said, "Thanks," reaching into the bag with a shrug.

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A/N2: "PT" is physical training in Marine Corps-speak. In other words, they went for a run.

A/N3: I added the FISA court as a mere nod to legality. It bugged me that Chuck could just whip out his laptop and access private information for anyone he wants (without even considering the as-yet-unknown Pirhana aspect of his abilities). But, having said that, what I've shown here isn't really accurate. A warrant issued by the Court would be for future surveillance, and wouldn't include the kind of past information Chuck also wanted to review. For that kind of intel the NSA or FBI, depending on the information to be sought, would issue either National Security Letters, which do not require judicial approval, or request normal judicial subpoenas for Verizon or American Express or whoever, rather than request an on-going surveillance warrant (although, of course, they could do any combination of those three things). Presenting it here more accurately, though, would mess up the timeline I had in mind for our friends' mission, so I humbly ask for both your suspension of disbelief and your indulgence.

A/N4: A crossbow? Seriously? I mean it's such a crazy detail I had to include it. But seriously, guys. (For any crossbow enthusiasts out there, sorry if I didn't treat your favorite weapon with all the respect it deserves.)

A/N5: Ask any of the other guys/gals here. It's the reviews that give us the fuel to go on. Give it a shot. Especially some of you shy people out there who have never reviewed before. Just a little nod would be great. Try it. You'd be surprised how good it feels. I try to respond to every review with a PM, but I'm going to be traveling for the next few days and it may be difficult. I will do it, though. Please be patient with me.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Hey, Warner Bros., you own Chuck. Time to re-think your plans for a Chuck movie and put it on the front burner. Seriously, guys, if you wait too long two of the stars are going to be too expensive for your little TV budget. Have you seen what great stuff they are up to lately? Come on, this is the perfect time. Don't dither. At least a webisode, as has been recently suggested by LetsGoRed, should be on the agenda. Something, for God's sake.

Apologies for the longer than usual delay between postings. Real life interfered. Thanks for your patience, those of you still here.

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Reis and Mead followed the ambulance to the hospital. Once Fleming was safe to move, they would arrange to have him transferred to a secure CIA medical facility in San Francisco.

Sarah and Chuck went to the nearby Holiday Inn on Beach Street. They had forgotten to get the room key from Casey, but they would have needed to stop at the desk anyway to get the room number. Their credentials as Federal Officers secured the necessary cooperation from the hotel staff. Fleming was registered under his brother's name, as they had expected.

The room, a moderately sized room with a Queen bed, overlooked a grass covered roof and the other wing of the hotel. It had been serviced by the maid already, but Fleming had clearly been back to the room since. An empty beer bottle sat on a side table next to an armchair. A book was open, pages down, on the seat of the armchair – Trance: Formation of America by Cathy O'Brien and Mark Phillips.

Sarah gestured to the book. "Well, that figures," she said.

"What?" Chuck asked.

"It's a book about CIA mind control studies," said Sarah.

"Did you guys do that?"

"I guess. I don't know. I never read the book."

They got busy looking for the disk, any indication of where it might be, or any explanation of what the mysterious numbers Fleming had given Chuck meant.

They worked efficiently. Fleming didn't have much in the way of possessions, as he'd fled with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. He'd bought some socks, underwear and shirts. All his stuff was dumped in the center of the bed and searched.

Chuck had learned by watching Sarah search Fleming's office the day before where to look for hidden caches. Using a multi-tool, which he had begun to carry every day, he was unscrewing the grill over the air vent when Sarah asked him, "Chuck, the woman at the front desk, who gave us the key to the room...was she right or left handed?"

"Umm...I don't know."

"She was left handed. Was she married?"

"Sarah, I've got the best girlfriend in the world. I'm not looking to see anymore," he said.

"She was married. The manager she called...was she married?"

"I don't know," he was confused by now and answered somewhat tentatively.

The grill came off and he looked inside. The vent was empty. He began to screw it back into place. The TV was wall mounted, so they ignored it. Had it been free standing, Chuck would have opened the back to make sure nothing had been cached in the empty areas inside the box.

"She was not married," said Sarah.

"How could you tell?" he asked.

"No wedding ring and she was checking you out," said Sarah. "How many people were in the lobby?"

"Uhhh...there was a family...with kids," he said.

"There were six people in the lobby, not counting us or the woman at reception. There was a bellman by the doors. There was a woman with two kids waiting for someone. There was a maintenance guy watering a potted plant, and there was a single man sitting in an armchair looking at his phone."

"Do you always notice that stuff?" asked Chuck, walking into the bathroom.

"Always. It's called situational awareness. I've been doing it my entire life," she said.

"Even before the CIA?" he asked.

She paused and answered, "Long story, but yes. Even before the CIA." He knew better than to ask a follow-up question about the long story. "Chuck, you have to work on your situational awareness. When Einerson was right up to you, you handled it really, really well. I'm proud of you for that. But...the man had a goddamn crossbow in a public park. A crossbow. And you didn't see him. You were so focused on Fleming that you failed to look around to see anything else. What if he'd had a gun? I know the situation was stressful. I understand that. I'm not mad at you. You've never had the training I have. Or Casey has had."

"Ok, you're right. I blew it," he said, with a hint of dejection in his voice.

"Now listen, I don't want you to feel bad about it. You handled it better than any other civilian ever could. Spectacularly even. Did you see how impressed Mead was? The thing is, though, you aren't quite a civilian anymore. You're not a spy either, thank God, but, you're not really a civilian either. For your own safety...Chuck..." her voice caught slightly, "I can't have anything happen to you...I can't...You have to be safe. It's my job to keep you safe. I'm going to start working with you on situational awareness. Consider this your training. Most spies get this stuff at the Farm, you'll be getting it in the field. Not that you're a spy, of course."

She had followed him into the bathroom and had opened the tank of the toilet to look inside. Chuck was unscrewing the bracket holding the shower rod into the wall.

"Ok, I'll start looking for wedding rings and handedness. But there's got to be more, right?"

"Wedding rings and handedness are tiny little things. Almost always meaningless. I was just using them as an example. First thing I want you to do is just start to be more aware of your surroundings. Most people, most civilians, live in a happy little bubble. They will pay limited attention to their surroundings. Maybe they will look around about three feet in any direction. And it's almost always fine. You live in a city. People are nice and civilized. Bad things don't happen.

"Until they do, Chuck. Everyone should be more situationally aware all the time, including civilians. But you've come with Casey and me into a different world. You have to develop some very acute situational awareness. At first just be more observant. This training may take years, so be patient. Eventually, you'll have to establish base lines for normal, so you can pick out abnormal. After that, we work on automatically developing contingency planning without conscious thought. "

"Ok," Chuck said. The shower rod was empty of hidden objects. He began to screw it back into the wall.

"I'm not trying to make you paranoid. But I really need you to be safe." She reached out and touched his arm.

"I understand, Sarah. I do. And I'll try. I promise." He put his arm around her and gave her a hug.

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Several hours later Chuck and Sarah were back in their hotel room in Palo Alto. Fleming's hotel room had yielded no clues. They had dropped the car at the hospital so Casey could drive himself back to the hotel later. Reis had given Chuck and Sarah a ride back to their hotel, barely saying anything the entire trip.

Fleming was out of surgery but still sedated. Casey and Mead were at the hospital in San Francisco arranging for a team of guards to watch over the unconscious academic and keep him incommunicado until he could be moved to the CIA facility. Mead had also volunteered to stay overnight to keep watch himself. He promised to call them when Fleming woke up in the morning, so they would go and interview him.

Chuck had called Beckman and given her Fleming's numbers. The NSA's cryptanalysis teams were working on it and she promised to contact them with any breaking news.

Meantime, Chuck and Sarah had eaten a room service dinner and tried their hands at figuring out the message for Bryce from Fleming.

Sarah said, "If it's a cipher, the NSA will break it."

"Yeah," said Chuck. "The problem is it might be a code, not a cipher." A cipher used some sort of algorithm to transpose symbols from a clear text message into the enciphered message. If you could establish the algorithm (for example, the simplest, use the next letter of the alphabet [+1], or the prior letter [-1]), you could read the message. A code, on the other hand, used a seemingly random assignment of a different symbol (or entire word). "Carmichael" was a code name. Unless somebody told you it went with "Bartowski" or you got your hands on a code book, you would have to rely on context clues to solve the puzzle.

"Did you do any cryptography at school?" asked Sarah.

"A little. I know the encryption software and how it works, but it's not really my thing. Those guys who really dug into that stuff aren't really computer guys at all. They are heavy, heavy math guys. The code breaking field today is all math. Prime numbers and stuff like that. My math is pretty decent, but not even in the same zip code as those guys."

"Well the NSA guys are among the best in the business," said Sarah.

"Yeah. This is a Bryce thing though. He wouldn't be breaking this through his genius. It would either mean something to him or he would know how to decipher it," said Chuck.

"I know. I'm betting this would mean something to Bryce. There has to be a solution," she said, staring at the numbers. She had written them out on a page and was just looking at it, as if she hoped the answer would materialize.

219F5U922

Sitting on the couch next to her, Chuck had his arm around her and was looking at the same numbers on the page. Eventually he said, "You know, they weren't straight across. On the page Fleming gave me. They were grouped three and six."

"What?" she said. "What do you mean?"

"Like this." He rewrote the numbers on the page.

219

F5U 922

"I don't know. Still doesn't do anything for me. What do you..."

"Holy shit. Chuck, it's not a code or a cipher. This is a book. These are Dewey reference numbers. It's a book."

"How do you know that?"

Her mind was still on the puzzle she had just solved and she answered somewhat absently, "Because I worked at the Widener Library for beer money at school. I re-shelved thousands of books. This is definitely a book."

"Yes!" He pumped a fist into the air. "Wow, that's fantastic. You're fantastic. You figured it out, Sarah. You're the best. Ok, then let's get to a ... the Widener? Wait a second. You went to Harvard?" He had a grin and a funny, surprised, awed, happy, proud look on his face.

She looked up startled, then replayed the conversation over in her mind. A slow smile played on her lips and her eyes sparkled as she said, "We liked to think of it as the Stanford of the East."

"Ha. My girlfriend went to Harvard," he said with a huge grin. "What did you study?"

"Romance languages and linguistics, double major. What can I say? I liked learning languages."

"How many do you speak?" Chuck asked.

"It's complicated," she said, with a slight frown.

"Got it. Sorry. Forget I asked," he said, with a raised defensive hand.

"No. I don't mean it's complicated and I don't want to tell you. I mean, it's actually complicated. In how many languages can I find the ladies room or a bus stop? Probably a couple of dozen. In how many can I discuss philosophy and the latest fashion trends? Probably ten. In how many can I pass as a native? Four. That's what I mean by complicated. I've actually been slacking off since I got to Burbank. I will normally be studying a new language or brushing up on an old one pretty much all the time."

"I'm a bad influence on you," Chuck said with a smile.

"It's worth it, lover," she said, giving him a little kiss.

"Hey, my girlfriend went to Harvard. I have a smart girlfriend." He was grinning like a madman.

"Yes, you do. You remember that the next time we have a fight," she said.

"I'm just going to roll over and play dead the next time that happens," he said, kissing her. "Brilliant, talented and not too bad to look at. I did ok."

"Not too bad?" she asked with a mock scowl and a raised eyebrow.

"Mmmmm," he nuzzled her neck with his lips. "Not too bad at all."

"Stop. Stop. Stop. If you keep that up we'll get distracted. How late is the library open?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. The disk. Sorry. There are a bunch of libraries, but the two main ones are Green and Lathrop. Both of them are open late. Let's go."

Walking out of the hotel room, Sarah touched her watch. "Casey, what's your status?"

"Just leaving the hospital. He's still unconscious, but the surgeon says he ought to make a full recovery. Be tough on him for a while, he had a collapsed lung, but he is going to be ok. Won't wake up until tomorrow though."

"Good. We'll go talk to him then. Chuck and I figured out the message Fleming sent to Bryce..."

Chuck interrupted, "Not true. She did it. I just watched and applauded." He reached out and held her hand.

Casey said, "Good job, Walker."

"Anyway, it's a reference to a book. Chuck and I are heading to campus now. We'll hit the main libraries looking for the book until we find the disk."

"Roger that. I'll let Beckman know to call off the eggheads. Maybe you can alert campus security you are on your way. They know we are looking around. It'll save you from breaking into a library."

"Yeah. I don't need to do that again," said Sarah.

"Again?" asked Chuck, with a little smile.

She smirked at him and said, "Long story."

"I'll let you know as I approach campus. If you're not done, I'll meet you."

"Right, Case," said Chuck. "Drive safe."

"Thanks. I'm getting to really hate I-280."

As they drove to campus, Chuck called campus security and arranged access. Something was niggling at him. A half a memory he couldn't put his finger on. He let his mind wander over the recent and not so recent past. Bryce...library...books...hiding...Bryce...

"It's not a book, Sarah."

"No, I'm pretty certain..."

"It's a location in the stacks. The book reference is marking a place in the stacks in Lathrop."

"How do you know?" asked Sarah.

"Bryce and I used to play around in Lathrop. A game called Gotcha!. Like a tag game, but with dart guns. There was a spot once where he got the drop on me because he'd hidden a gun in a secret spot he'd discovered in the stacks."

"A dead drop," said Sarah. "Makes sense. Putting the disk in a book was a stupid idea. Some random person could take the book out of the library and find the disk. Then you'd be out of luck. A dead drop identified by the location of a book is a much better plan. No risk of losing the disk to a reader."

"Yeah. I agree. Makes much more sense than stashing it in a library book. That would be pretty dumb," said Chuck.

They parked and walked to Lathrop. A security guard let them in and offered to accompany them upstairs, but they declined the assistance. A few minutes later and they had found the right location in the stacks. The books had all been knocked off the shelf and lay on the ground.

"Shit. Looks like Einerson figured it out. I guess he's smarter than he looks," said Chuck. Sarah started to check the books as he reached underneath the bookshelf and moved his hand side to side along the underside of the shelf. "Got it...and...there." With a small click, a compartment opened downward. Sarah handed him a pen light from her jacket pocket and he shined it into the hidden compartment. "It's empty. Damn."

"Could there be another compartment?" asked Sarah.

Chuck bent down and looked along the underside of the shelf with the help of the pen light. "Nope. This is it. I don't even know why this one is here."

"Shit. I guess Einerson got here first and found it." She touched her watch and said, "Casey. Looks like Einerson beat us here. Bryce had a dead drop in the stacks, but the disk is gone."

"Dammit. Alright, I'll meet you both at the hotel. I'm almost there."

"Right. We'll head back there now," said Sarah, touching her watch again. They began to walk back the way they had come moments ago.

"Sarah, why would Einerson knock the books off the shelves just to open the dead drop? That's not necessary. It wouldn't have been obstructed by the books on the shelf."

"Frustration?"

"About what? He wouldn't be frustrated if he found the disk. He'd be a pretty happy camper. What if he didn't find the disk there? What if he had figured out the library book, but didn't know about Bryce's secret hiding place? That would be pretty frustrating."

"Ok, but then why was the dead drop empty?" asked Sarah.

"I don't know. But I want to hear what Fleming has to say about it in the morning."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They looked at Fleming from the open door of the private hospital room. He had been impaled on the left side of his back, so he was lying on his right side propped on a large pile of pillows. An IV tube snaked into his left arm. An oxygen monitor was on his left index finger, glowing red. A blood pressure cuff encircled his left bicep. A nasal cannula came from the wall to a machine and from there around his head to vent oxygen directly into his nostrils. Bulky bandages covered his upper chest. He looked pretty bad.

However, the surgeon assured them that the operation had been a success and he would make a full recovery given time and rest. He had emphasized rest and forbidden them from questioning him for very long.

Chuck, Sarah, Casey, and Mead stood in the hospital hallway.

"I'm happy to try if you guys want," said Mead.

"Naw. Thanks, but it should be one of us. It's our mission," said Sarah.

"Chuck, you know him," said Casey.

"Yeah, and there's no love lost. When he was shot he was starting to apologize to me for getting me expelled from Stanford," said Chuck.

"He got you expelled from Stanford?" asked Mead.

"Long story," said Sarah.

"Look, I think it should be Casey," said Chuck. "He's big and scary and will get answers none of the rest of us would."

"The guy's just come out of surgery. He doesn't need big and scary. Anyway, we're the good guys. He'll want to cooperate. I'll do it," said Sarah.

"Ok, but if you think he's not cooperating, just let me know and I'll come in big and scary," said Casey.

"Can I watch?" asked Chuck. Sarah gave him a frown, to which he responded with a look of feigned innocence.

Sarah went into the room quietly, closing the door behind her. She pulled the visitor's chair over to the head of the bed, close to Fleming.

"Professor?" she said quietly.

Fleming slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sarah.

"My name is Sarah Walker. I'm an agent of the CIA. You contacted Black Code for assistance. We are here now." Fleming's eyes flickered from her to the door. "There are guards outside the door. You're safe now. How do you feel?"

He licked dry lips and said, "Like I've been shot in the back with an arrow."

"Would you like me to get you some water?"

"Yes. Please."

She poured him a drink from the little plastic water pitcher on the nightstand, and put a little bendy straw into the cup. She held it up to his mouth as he drank from the straw.

After a bit he said, "Thank you."

"If you want more, just ask. Ok?" He nodded. "Professor, I need to ask you some questions." He nodded. "What's on the disk? What intel did you download?"

"Project Omaha files," he said. That meant nothing to Sarah, but she had time to figure that out later and it wouldn't help her find the disk.

"Ok. Where is it now?"

"I put it in the dead drop. In the library. Larkin's dead drop. I can give you the location. I tried to give it to Chuck Bartowski yesterday. It's..."

"No, it's not, Professor. I checked the dead drop last night. It's empty."

"Oh...then Agent Larkin has it. He would have cleaned out the dead drop," said Fleming speaking barely above a whisper. Talking was clearly painful for him.

"Why do you say that?" asked Sarah.

"Because he's the only other person who knows about the dead drop. At least I think he is. I left him the signal. That the dead drop was full. He must have emptied it. So, you have it already. Just ask Agent Larkin."

"What signal?"

"A chalk mark on a garbage can in front of Lathrop. If I make that mark it means the dead drop is full and should be serviced."

"Which garbage can?"

"The one to the right of the door."

"Right as you are facing Lathrop or with your back to Lathrop?"

"Oh, uh, facing Lathrop," he said.

"Ok, and then what happens?" asked Sarah.

"I guess it's serviced. When the chalk mark is gone, I know someone cleaned out the dead drop," said Fleming.

"But you don't know if the chalk mark has been erased this time. You don't know if the dead drop has been emptied."

"No. I haven't been back to Lathrop since … since I put the disk there."

"When was that?"

He licked dry lips again. "Can I get some more water, please?"

"Sure." She held the water cup up to him as he drank from the straw.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. So, when was that? When did you put the disk in the dead drop for Larkin to pick up?"

"About a week...maybe a week and a half ago."

"Why did you leave the disk for Larkin?"

Fleming looked away. His eyes skittering around the room nervously. "Well, I know I shouldn't have. I know it was a mistake. He told me to destroy it..."

Sarah's eyes widened in surprise, but just for a moment. "Wait. What? Larkin told you to destroy it? Destroy what? When did he tell you this?"

"Larkin contacted me several months ago. He told me to destroy the Omaha files and wipe my hard drive clean. I told him I'd do it, but only when I got back to Stanford. I was on a special interim teaching arrangement in Barcelona. It would last until, well, just a few weeks ago. I told him I'd do it when I got back here."

"But you didn't," said Sarah.

"No. I didn't. I know I should have, but I hated seeing that much data destroyed. I had worked so hard to collect it. Many of us did. It seemed such a waste. If the Agency was going to destroy it...well, ok...but I didn't want to be the one to do it. I'd let Larkin do it himself. So, I loaded it into his dead drop and left the signal." He was visibly weakening, his eyes drooping and his voice fading.

"Just a few more a questions," said Sarah. "Who else did you tell about the disk? Who else knew?"

His eyes had closed. A nurse scurried in and shoo'ed Sarah out, promising that she could come back and talk to him again in the afternoon.

Sarah stepped out into the hallway and said, "Jim, could you give us a few, please?"

"Sure, Sarah. No worries. Any of you want coffee?" They declined and he left them alone.

Sarah briefed Chuck and Casey on her conversation with Fleming, including the fact that he fell asleep while she still had questions.

"Son of a bitch," said Casey.

"Well, he had just had surgery, Case. I don't think you can blame him too much for falling asleep," said Sarah reasonably.

"Not him. Larkin. That son of a bitch is manipulating us from beyond the grave."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: A great example of the difference between a code and a cipher occurred in World War II. In the first half of 1942, the Americans had broken the Japanese naval cipher and were decrypting the messages, but the Japanese had labeled pertinent islands in code. Breaking the cipher was not enough, as the deciphering effort only resulted in the discovery of the code names in the messages. The Americans told the garrison on Midway to report a problem with a water distilling machine. Soon the Americans deciphered a Japanese message that island "AF" had a water shortage, thereby identifying "AF" as Midway Island. Only then could they read and understand Japanese messages containing the code "AF", at least until the Japanese Navy changed the cipher again.

A/N3: You know how on TV and in movies whenever they give you a phone number they use the 555 prefix central office code to stop real people from calling the number shown and trying to speak to a fictional character? Well, the same guys in charge of that (or gals, I guess) picked this Dewey number. The number 219 is unassigned in the system. It's in the Religion section and follows 218, which is Humankind. I think it's fitting that we are faced with a book dealing with something beyond humankind, given Chuck's Intersect abilities.

A/N4: I can't be the only one who realized that in canon Fleming left the disk in Bryce's dead drop and told Chuck to get the book reference to Bryce. They never explained why he did that or why he downloaded intel in the first place, while knowing he shouldn't have. I've tried to do so here.

A/N5: Just saw Captain Marvel. Really great movie. A lot of fun. And, although there's no question that Brie Larson did a wonderful job as Carol Danvers, I couldn't help but think of Yvonne Strahovski in that role (rumors are that she was seriously considered). Who knows? We might have ended up with our favorite couple in competing superhero movies. For the future, Sue Storm anyone?

A/N6: Love to hear from any of you so inclined.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: The American designer John Maeda said, "Creativity is about ownership." I have no way of knowing whether he was thinking about Chuck when he said it. In any event, I must disagree. There is tremendous creativity here and, unless folks are prevaricating, little ownership.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck, Casey and Sarah sat huddled together in the tiny office in the Stanford Department of Public Safety. Chuck was in front of a computer monitor typing quickly. He shifted slightly.

"Watch it, Bartowski," growled Casey.

"Look, I know our knees are touching, but it's a small space. I can't help it."

"I'm just glad you showered today," Casey said, with a huff.

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other with smiles and Chuck said, "Oh, yeah. Me too."

"Ugghhh. Why did I open my mouth? Will you two knock it off, for God's sake? Have a little mercy on me," Casey said.

"You started it," Sarah said, laughing.

From Fleming's hospital room, they had driven back from San Francisco to Stanford (and by this point all of them were tired of I-280) and went immediately to the garbage can in front of Lathrop. There was no chalk mark. It was a fair assumption that whoever had removed the chalk mark had also emptied the dead drop. Of course, if it was a maintenance worker or cleaner, they might have hit a dead end there. Reis and Mead were talking to those people to determine if any of them had noticed anything odd with that receptacle.

The campus police, euphemistically called Public Safety, had been cooperative and given them access to the digital recordings from the video monitors. Luckily, Fleming had filled the dead drop just a few days before, as the information from the monitors was only maintained for thirty days before being erased.

It didn't take too long to find the right camera so as to isolate that particular feed. Chuck bounced back ten days and saw no chalk mark. Nine days, and no chalk mark. Eight days, and there it was. It was there until three days ago. Sometime three days earlier, the chalk mark had been removed. They looked at breakfast time from that day and the chalk mark was there. By dinner it was gone. At 11 AM, it was still there. Jumping forward, by 2PM it was gone. Noon was tough to see with crowds of students coming and going for the lunch hour. There it was. Still there. One PM, gone.

They started to run the feed from that one hour period three days ago at 150% of speed. At one point, a small crowd of people passed the can and the chalk mark was gone. They watched it again at regular speed. And again. They still could not tell who had erased it during the seven second clip of the crowd passing. They watched it at half speed ten times. They debated among themselves. There were four possible people. Three men and a woman. Two of them were facing away from the camera and were unrecognizable. The other two were facing the camera during either that crucial seven second period or immediately before or after. Chuck did screen grabs and printed out the faces of the two they could see to show to the campus police. Hopefully, if they couldn't ID the men easily, a facial comparison could be run through all student and staff ID photos.

The other two possibilities, though, were more problematic. Chuck shifted cameras and took up the next camera from where the man seemed to be heading as he left the library. There he was, but still no facial shot. The man had his head down and was looking at his phone, hiding his face from the camera. He was about six foot or so, and athletic looking with broad shoulders and dark wavy hair. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a red backpack on one shoulder. If Chuck hadn't known Bryce was dead, Chuck might have thought it was him. "Bryce," said Chuck, a little breathless.

"No, it's not," said Casey.

"I know. That's not what I meant. He looks like Bryce," said Chuck.

"He just looks like him, but it's not him," said Sarah.

"It's not Larkin, Bartowski. Larkin is dead. I killed him," said Casey.

"I know. I was at his funeral, Case," said Chuck. "Wait...what?"

"I killed him. I'm the one who shot Larkin." Chuck just stared at him speechless. Casey continued. "I was the commander of the NSA reaction force that got scrambled when Larkin infiltrated the facility. I'm the one who shot him. I'm sure he's dead." Casey spoke in a completely matter of fact manner, as if this revelation was no big deal.

"I didn't know that," said Chuck, still stunned by the news.

They looked at each other for long moments. "Does it make a difference?" asked Casey, gruffly.

Chuck thought about it for a moment or two more while he continued to track the Bryce-look-alike with the security camera footage. Eventually he said, "No. It doesn't make a difference. Not at all. I was just surprised by it, that's all."

"Surprised by what? You knew somebody shot him," said Casey.

"Yeah. I guess I was just surprised that you never mentioned it before."

"Doesn't often come up in conversation. Why would I mention it?"

"Ok, yeah. I guess you wouldn't necessarily...but, you did go to his funeral."

"Yeah, that was weird," admitted Casey.

"I'll bet," said Chuck. A moment later, Casey put a hand on Chuck's shoulder and squeezed.

Chuck looked at him and nodded once. They were good.

Chuck turned to Sarah and asked, "Did you know that Casey was the one who killed Bryce?"

"Yeah, I did. Never seemed worth mentioning," she said. He smiled at her slightly and squeezed her hand.

It was ok. Chuck was surprised, but upon reflection, it really did make no difference to his relationship with his teammates. In Chuck's mind it explained, actually, why Major John Casey had been assigned by the NSA to the Intersect project when Bryce sent the email to him. Casey'd been involved since at least a couple of days before.

"Case, you were sent here to find me immediately after shooting Bryce. To find out why Bryce sent me the Intersect. That's why you were already briefed on me and the Intersect when we met the morning after the hotel bombing."

"Yeah, I was. Walker got to you first..."

"Lucky for me," said Chuck.

"Yeah. You would have had a very different experience if I had arrived before she did," said Casey. "The plane I was on had engine trouble and had to make an emergency landing in Provo. Without that, I'd have arrived much earlier. I probably would have interrupted your date the night the hotel blew up."

"Well, unless we would have been able to stop the hotel bombing, I have to applaud the engine trouble. I had a nice time on that date," said Chuck.

"Best first date ever," said Sarah, holding his hand and smiling.

"It all turns out the way it's supposed to. We're now a pretty effective team and have managed to do some good," said Casey.

"Yup. All good," said Chuck.

Chuck was tracking the man from camera to camera, watching in real time as he moved through the campus. It was a time-consuming process. Did this idiot ever look up from his phone? It wasn't even safe to walk around like this. He was going to walk into a light pole or something. Chuck thought about Sarah's admonition regarding situational awareness and considered that this guy needed the same lecture. There. There it was. Someone said something to the man and he looked up to reply and wave. Chuck froze the picture – it was not Bryce, of course – and printed out the man's face.

He went back to the woman. Their last candidate. She was a slender woman with disproportionately large breasts. She was wearing a light-colored tee shirt, tight jeans and knee-high boots. She had a purse over one shoulder. A floppy hat obscured her face. He followed her through campus. She made her way to a parking lot eventually and found her car. Just as she was getting into the car she took off the hat and twisted around to sit in the driver's seat. Chuck froze the picture and said, with a gasp, "Oh, my God. No way."

"Did you flash?" asked Sarah.

"No...I didn't have to. I know her. Oh, my God...what the hell is going on? This makes no sense. Bryce is dead. What the hell is going on? This isn't even possible..she's...I mean we buried him...I just..."

"Focus, moron. You're spiraling. Just tell us who she is," said Casey.

"Right. Right. Sorry. Her name is Candy. At least she was called Candy. I don't know if that was her given name. I'm not sure I remember her last name...Raymond? Reynolds? Rayfield? Something like that. She was a sort of girlfriend of Bryce when we were in school."

"Sort of?" asked Sarah.

"Well, yeah. Sort of...she's ...well, she's a...she's sort of...she's a hooker...a prostitute," said Chuck, clearly uncomfortable with the news he was imparting.

"I thought Bryce was a ladies' man in school. You mean he had to pay for it?" asked Sarah.

"Well, not often. But sometimes. If he was between girls for some reason. He would head into East Palo Alto and see Candy. He said if he didn't get it regularly he couldn't concentrate. He claimed his grades would suffer. He used to call them study sessions. 'Hey Chuck, give me a lift into town? I have a study session with Candy.' Like that. That's how I know her. I used to give him a lift sometimes. I met her a few times when I was dropping him off or picking him up."

"You ever visit her yourself, kid?" asked Casey, with a small smile.

"No. Of course, not. I had a girlfriend."

"Do we think Candy the hooker emptied the dead drop?" asked Casey. "Is she a student here?"

"No way," said Chuck. "I have no idea how she could get into the library. But..."

"But it's not a coincidence that Bryce's old bedmate walked past and the chalk mark signaling the service of Bryce's dead drop disappeared," said Sarah. "She erased the chalk mark even if she isn't the one who emptied the dead drop. We have to find Candy."

Chuck focused on the car Candy was entering and took a screen shot of the license plate. Taking his laptop from his messenger bag at his feet he accessed California Department of Motor Vehicles and found that that car was registered to a Ms. Beatrice Reynolds in East Palo Alto, the low-rent neighbor of Palo Alto, closer to the Bay. Switching sites, Chuck pulled up the records of the East Palo Alto Police Department (to which his federal clearances gave him access) and looked up the records of Ms. Reynolds. Ten arrests for solicitation in the last five years. One drunk and disorderly. And two misdemeanor assaults. The police had her at the same address as the DMV did.

Pointing at the screen, Casey said, "Is that the same place she was when you used to take Bryce to get his ashes hauled?"

"No. I don't recognize the address. She must be in a new living situation."

"Yeah, but some of those solicitation arrests were recent, so she didn't find a new line of work," said Sarah.

"True, that," said Chuck.

"All right," said Sarah. "Let's go. We'll clue in Mead and Reis on the way."

They switched off the computers and collected their stuff. Chuck kept the print-outs of the three men they had tracked by the security cameras, just in case. They thanked the campus police for their cooperation and hospitality.

As they were leaving the campus police offices, Sarah got in touch with Mead and Reis. As Einerson seemed to be lurking around every corner, the CIA agents insisted on coming along as an extra pair of eyes and guns if it became necessary.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

East Palo Alto is an independent city from its neighbor, Palo Alto, and is actually to the north of that city, not east. It is significantly less affluent than its neighbor to the south. Green Street was filled with one and two story small houses, some with broken cars in the driveways and overgrown lawns.

The house they found was in the middle of the block with a boarded-up house on one side and a vacant lot on the other side. It had peeling paint and a brown lawn. The walkway from the street up to the front door was cracked and uneven.

Mead and Reis pulled up behind them. Mead said, "You guys go on in. We'll stay out here in case Einerson shows up. If you hear gunfire, just go about your business. We'll take care of it here. I'm sort of looking forward to popping a cap in his frigid Icelandic ass." Casey grunted at that.

Reis said nothing.

Chuck, Sarah and Casey made their way to the front door and knocked. It took multiple knocks, but finally a barefoot Latino man in board shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt answered the door. He looked like he had just woken up, although it was about one o'clock in the afternoon. His hair was a mess, he had a three-day stubble on his chin, and he was squinting against the afternoon sun. The man was heavily tattooed and had a scar on his left cheek that pulled down his eye slightly. He was unlikely to be selected as a stand-in for Brad Pitt.

"Go away," he said, with a vicious sneer and a slight accent.

"Hi, I'm Chuck. I'd like to see Candy, please," said Chuck, pleasantly.

"Look, if you're the cops, I already paid this week. If you're customers," he stared at Sarah for a few extra moments, "you're too early and you need to come back in about four hours. If you're anyone else, you need to get lost."

Sarah spoke to him in rapid fire Spanish. The man gasped and began to back up from the door. Sarah moved forward and pushed the door open. She stepped into the house, never taking her eyes from the man. He said a few words to her, and she responded with a long paragraph. He again said a few words.

Sarah said, "Candy is upstairs asleep. First door to the left at the top of the stairs. There are two other girls working here. All three are asleep. You two go on up. Tuco and I are going to get to know each other better." Chuck looked at her to be sure. She smiled at Chuck, but looked at Tuco the way a lion looks at a tethered goat, and said, "It's fine, Chuck. Go on up." Tuco looked like he was being forced to chew glass.

Chuck and Casey crossed the living room space to the stairs. The living room was cluttered with the detritus of common living arrangements of people not too high on fastidiousness. An empty pizza box lay on the floor. Some empty beer bottles, and a half empty bottle of cheap vodka sat on the coffee table. A huge pile of magazines sat on a small table next to a threadbare armchair. There was little light and no air. The house didn't smell too fresh.

Casey and Chuck climbed the stairs and knocked on the first door to the left. They heard, from beyond the door, "Go away. I'm asleep." The woman's voice was muffled.

"Candy? Can I talk to you a minute? Please? It's Chuck..Chuck Bartowski."

"Who?" asked the sleepy voice.

"Chuck Bartowski. Bryce Larkin's friend."

There was movement inside the room. The door opened and there was Candy Reynolds. She was in her late twenties and about medium height. Slender but buxom. She had dyed blond hair with a single blue streak down one temple, cut just to shoulder height. She was wearing a long white tee shirt that just barely covered her bottom. She was sleep tossed and unkempt, but looked at Chuck with a huge welcoming smile. Overall, Casey found her to be pretty, if a little hard around the eyes. He could see that she would probably have a steady supply of customers.

"I remember you. How ya doing, Chuckie? I haven't seen you in years. Not since you and Bryce graduated. And who's your friend?" She smiled at Casey.

"I'm good, Candy. Thanks. This is my friend Casey. Casey, this is Candy."

She reached for his hand, "Hi, Casey."

Taking her hand, he said, "Nice to meet you, Candy."

Looking up at both men, each of whom was well over six feet tall, she said, "Couple of big boys here. So, Chuck, did you come to see me?"

"I did," he said.

"Ok, it's a little early, but..." she took his hand and tugged him toward the room and the unmade bed.

"Oh, no, no, no...that's not what I meant..."

"Do you still have a girlfriend?" asked Candy, with a bit of a pout, releasing his hand.

"Yes...yes, I do. A different one this time, though."

"Oh, Ok. She's a lucky girl." Candy turned to Casey and said, "I kept offering to give him a discount and everything, but he always turned me down. He had a girlfriend and he wasn't going to cheat on her. He's a real gentleman."

Casey said, "Yeah, Chuck's a good guy."

Candy said, "Then what's up, Chuck? Actually, you know what? Can we talk downstairs? I'd like coffee. I'm not usually up this early."

"Sure," said Chuck.

They went downstairs. Sarah and Tuco were still in the living room. Tuco was staring at Sarah with somewhat wild eyes. He wasn't exactly trembling, but he was certainly fidgeting. His eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape. Sarah was speaking to him quietly in Spanish. He wasn't replying, but that didn't seem to be necessary for her part of the conversation.

Candy took no notice of the tension in the room. "Morning, Tuco. Hi," she said to Sarah.

"Hi. You must be Candy. I'm Sarah."

"Hi, Sarah. Are you friends with Chuck and Casey?"

Sarah smiled and said, "Yes. Yes, I am."

Candy quickly looked between Sarah and Chuck and back again and said, "And you are Chuck's girlfriend." She gave Sarah a big smile.

"Yes," said Sarah.

"Well, you're lucky. I haven't seen him since he graduated school, but we have a friend in common. A guy named Bryce. And Bryce always said how good Chuck was, so you're pretty lucky to have him as a boyfriend. He's a real gentleman."

Sarah smiled back at Candy and said, "Yes. I am. I'm very lucky."

"Can you all excuse me for just a second? I'm going to make some coffee to wake up. Be right back."

With a glance at Sarah, Tuco said, "No, no. You stay with your friends, Candy. I'll make you some coffee."

"Oh, wow. That's so sweet. Thanks, Tuco." Tuco scurried out of the room to the kitchen in back. "Oh, boy. He's never that nice. He's usually pretty mean. Huh."

"Candy," said Chuck. "Have you seen Bryce since graduation?"

"Sure. I see him every few months. When his work lets him come here to Palo Alto. But you know, he travels all the time, so it's hard. I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you, but he always liked you so much, Chuck, and always said you were really, really good, so I guess I can tell you. Bryce is a spy."

Chuck, Sarah and Casey exchanged looks with each other.

Candy continued, "He's like a James Bond spy saving the world and stuff. I mean, you probably know that already, being his best friend and everything, but if you didn't you can't tell anyone cause it's like a really big secret. So, when he can come to see me, he does. I'm always happy to see him. We go out to dinner before doing it and everything. He has the nicest hair, you know? Anyway, yeah, I've seen him."

"When was the last time, Candy?"

"Um, the summer. July. Maybe August."

"And the time before that?" asked Sarah.

"Valentine's Day. I saw him on Valentine's Day this year. I remember cause he was so sweet about it."

Chuck glanced at Sarah, but she showed no reaction. Given what he knew about the timing of Bryce going rogue, Bryce and Sarah would still have been a couple at that time. He made a mental note to talk to her about that later.

Chuck reached out to take her hand and said, "Candy, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. I know there's no easy way to say it, but I'm afraid Bryce is dead. He was killed on a spy mission a couple of months ago. I'm sorry. I know you liked him."

"Dead?...Bryce is dead...Oh, no...he's dead...oh...oh..." She put her hand to her face and started to cry. Within moments she was crying very hard, with loud sobs. Chuck and Casey stood there, uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Sarah stepped up between them and wrapped Candy in a gentle hug, whispering to her and rubbing her back.

Tuco came back with Candy's coffee. Sarah pointed to the table and he put the mug down.

Sarah, still holding Candy gently, said, "Candy, we worked with Bryce. We're his friends. Did he ask you to do him a favor?"

"Oh, sure," she was still crying, but more slowly now. "A long time ago, even before he graduated, he told me to collect something from a secret spy place in the library. I go past the library all the time. He told me that if I ever saw the chalk mark on the garbage can I should erase the mark and take what I find in the secret spy place and hold it for him. I'd been looking for that mark for years and never seen nothing. But then a few days ago, I saw it and went in and got this thing for Bryce. I was so proud of myself, you know? Helping a real spy with secret stuff and everything. I sort of hoped he'd be visiting me soon. Cause I collected his secret thing." She sobbed loudly. "But he's not coming. Not ever again. Damn it."

"No, Candy. He isn't. I'm so sorry. We miss him too. But the thing he asked you to hold for him is still pretty important. Do you think you could give it to us? Please?"

Still in Sarah's hug, Candy said, "Well, you and Casey are really nice, but I don't know you. Bryce told me to only give it to him. But I know Chuck and he's definitely a good guy. Bryce told me once that he never met a better guy ...ever. So, that's ok. I can give it to Chuck. But, I don't' have it here..."

There was a noise from the kitchen at the back of the house. Casey looked at Tuco and said, "Anybody else here?"

Tuco said, "No. The other girls are asleep upstairs." Just Casey began to reach for his pistol, Einerson appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his crossbow up and ready to fire. Several of his men were coming up behind him.

"Nobody move," said Einerson, in a Nordic accent. "You give us the disk and everyone gets to live." Candy screamed.

Casey said, "Still with the fucking crossbow. What is the matter with you?" Einerson aimed at Casey as Casey began to draw his pistol with his right hand. Casey snatched a fistful of magazines from the table with his left hand and raised them just as Einerson pulled the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt struck partway through the thick collection of magazines in Casey's left hand and jammed to a stop.

Casey growled, "Idiot" as he threw the impaled magazines to the floor and drew his SIG Sauer P229. One of Einerson's men launched himself at Casey as Einerson himself stepped to the side. Sarah, still entangled with Candy, found it difficult to reach her pistol, so she drew one of her throwing knives. The steel flashed through the air to bury itself up to the hilt into the man's chest. He fell to the ground motionless, skidding to a stop at Casey's feet.

Tuco, pretty much frozen with shock, said, "Dios Mio." He looked at Sarah with amazement and fear.

Einerson disappeared back into the kitchen as two more of his men appeared coming through the doorway. Sarah shifted Candy in her arms and almost threw her at Chuck, who took the woman and moved them both backwards, out of the way of the violence. As he did so, he gave Tuco a none-too-gentle shove backwards as well. The last thing Casey and Sarah needed was to have civilians underfoot in a fight.

Einerson's men had pistols in their hands, but by the time they had made it fully into the room, so did Casey and Sarah. The four of them stood there frozen, guns pointed at each other, nobody moving. The tension in the room was thick as the four antagonists weighed the situation. Mexican standoff. Into the still silence Candy, held firmly in Chuck's arms, cried, "What the hell is going on? Who are you motherfuckers?"

The man on the left, pointing his gun at Casey, glanced at Candy for an instant. In that instant, Casey shot him twice in the center of the forehead, killing him instantly. Casey's aim shifted immediately to the other man, who now had a dead partner collapsing to the floor, and the rock steady pistols of two deadly federal agents pointed directly at his face. Even more that the hollow unblinking eyes of the muzzles of the two pistols, the most unnerving thing was the cold, hard, deadly gaze that Sarah and Casey leveled at the unfortunate survivor. Understandably, the man's courage began to reach its limits. His eyes widened, his breath quickened, and his hands holding the gun began to tremble slightly.

Sarah saw all of that and said, "Two more agents are going to be running up to the front door about now. You are in a bad situation, asshole. Time to give up and live. Drop your weapon. Do it NOW."

Instead, the guy leapt backwards towards the kitchen just as the front door burst open and Mead and Reis came in with guns drawn. That moment of distraction was all the man needed. He was around the corner and out the back door of the house in an instant. Einerson's car was in the vacant lot behind the house and took off like a shot the moment the man was inside. It threw dust and pebbles high into the air as it went.

Sarah stood in the doorway at the back of the house and made a note of the plate number of the fleeing vehicle. Taking out her cell phone, she called it in to the local CIA offices and asked for a cleaning team to get to the house ASAP. Walking back inside, she saw Casey checking the body of the man with her knife in his chest. Casey shook his head no, indicating that Einerson's hired help would not be continuing in that line of work. He pulled her knife from the body and proceeded to use the dead man's shirt to wipe it clean of blood.

Handing it back to her by the handle he said, "Nice knife."

"Yeah. It was a present from Chuck." Casey nodded with approval., and began to search the pockets of the dead men.

As she slipped it back into her sheath, she went to Chuck and Candy. She glanced at Tuco, who flinched under her gaze. "You two okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine," said Chuck. Candy merely nodded tearfully.

Shouts came from upstairs as the two sleeping women, now awake, called down to find out what was going on. Candy and Tuco both yelled for them to stay upstairs and not come down to the living room.

She went to Mead and Reis, and, stone faced, said, "Where the fuck were you? I thought you were watching our six. What the hell?"

They had the good sense to look ashamed. "We were out front. Both of us. We couldn't see the back of the house," said Mead.

Reis said nothing.

Sarah grunted in derision, "Bush league."

Mead said, "You're right. Sorry, Sarah. We blew it." She walked away from them angrily.

She turned back to Candy. "Candy, I'm sorry you had to see all this."

"Are they dead?" asked Candy.

Sarah spoke softly to the girl. They were about the same age, but Sarah thought of her as much younger for some reason. "Yes, Candy. Those men are dead. They are the bad guys and they came for the disk Bryce left you. If we hadn't been here...well, there would have been no one here to protect you from them. The safest thing for you right now is to give us the disk right away and let us take it far away from here..from you. Can you do that?"

"Yes. It's not here though. I gave it to my brother. I didn't think it was safe here. Lisa..upstairs..she steals stuff. So, I gave it to my brother to keep it safe. I'll take you to him."

"Thank you, Candy. Where is your brother?"

"Glory Hole."

They all looked at each other with a mixture of surprise, confusion and maybe a little trepidation.

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A/N2: I'm sorry. My Spanish isn't that good. I don't know what Sarah was saying to Tuco. For all I know, she was encouraging him to go to church on Sundays. Or not.

A/N3: Little bribery here. Let's see if it works. If you review this chapter, I promise you will get a really nice "thank you" PM from me. (Well, I mean except for you visitors who haven't registered to get PM's. Nothing I can do there.) You can print it out, frame it, and admire it from time to time. How about it?


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: What would a fanfic be without a mention of the ownership of Chuck? Well, probably a Harry Potter fanfic, but never mind about that.

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"Where is your brother?"

"Glory Hole."

They all looked at each other with a mixture of surprise, confusion and maybe a little trepidation.

"What?" asked Chuck, finally. He was blushing beet red.

Candy saw his blush and shook her head. "No, no. Not that. The Glory Hole. It's in Lake Berryessa. Up near Winters. It's a part of the Monticello Dam spillway. It's really cool when they open it up to drain the reservoir. It's like a hole in the water. Really cool to see. Only happens every few years when the water is too high. My brother lives near that, along Putah Creek. It's up in Napa County." She seemed distracted, maybe a little bit on autopilot. Between the news of Bryce's death and the violence she'd just witnessed, Candy was pretty shook up.

"So that's what? An hour and a half drive?" asked Casey.

"Oh, more than that at this hour. San Francisco traffic."

"Can you call him and have him meet us halfway, maybe?"

"Naw. No phone service where he is. He's in a dead zone for cell service and his landline got shut off cause he didn't pay."

"Shit," said Casey.

"Can you show us where he lives? Can you take us there?" asked Chuck.

"Sure. Just let me put on some pants," she said, heading for the stairs.

Casey said, "Hey, Tuco, go hang around in the kitchen. Don't split though. Some cleaners are on the way to take care of the bodies and they'll want to talk to you."

"Cops?" asked Tuco.

"No, Feds."

"La Migra?"

"No. Feds that you will never be able to tell anyone you met. Just like us. We were never here, huh, amigo?" said Casey.

Sarah spoke to him again in Spanish. He nodded once, fear in his eyes, and headed to the kitchen.

"You don't have to scare the piss out of him every single time you talk to him, you know," said Casey.

"I don't like pimps. Never have," said Sarah with finality.

Mead and Reis approached them. "Look, I know you're pissed off at us," said Mead. "I don't blame you at all. Reis and I, well, we messed up. Let us come with you to Berryessa. No screw ups this time. Einerson is still in the wind and seems to be pretty relentless in trying to snag this McGuffin. Come on, Sarah. Give us another chance."

Sarah looked irritated, but said, "Up to Chuck and Casey. If they want you along, it's ok with me. But one more snafu like we just had and that's it."

"Understood," said Mead.

Reis said nothing.

Chuck looked to Casey, who shrugged ok. Chuck said, "Ok, guys."

"Thanks," said Mead.

There was a knock at the door as the CIA cleaners arrived. Shortly afterwards, Candy came down the stairs, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a pink blouse. She grabbed a fleece-lined denim jacket, as it would be colder near the Lake.

"Ok, guys, I'm ready. Let's go."

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In summer months, the beautiful waters of Lake Berryessa were a draw for boaters and vacationers, with resorts scattered around the lake. While the day was clear and bright, at this time of year, the temperature hovered around the high 40's, too cold for water sports. The rugged hills (they were too small to be called mountains), were green and relatively lush. It was a lovely drive, but they were not paying too much attention to the scenery. Chuck, Casey and Sarah were keeping an eye out for Einerson, who had an uncanny habit of showing up and bringing violence with him. Mead and Reis were following in the car behind them.

Casey drove with Chuck in the passenger seat navigating. Sarah and Candy sat together in the back seats, chatting quietly. Sarah had gently drawn out the other woman, encouraging her to talk about her life, her chosen profession, her upbringing, her family. Sarah was clearly empathetic to what Candy had gone through to lead her to her life choices. Although Sarah didn't share anything about her own life, Candy probably didn't notice that. By the end of the drive, Candy seemed to have come to grips with Bryce's death. She was still upset, but no longer crying on and off. Sarah was a calming influence. Once or twice she even got Candy to laugh a little.

Eventually, the little caravan had turned onto a long dirt road leading up to a small cabin. The structure was a single story and in a mild state of disrepair. A raised front porch ran the length of the cabin with a couple of aluminum lawn chairs standing guard. A Jeep with brown rust stains sat near the building. This was the last house on the road. Behind it the rolling hills rose steeply into light forest.

Spotting the Jeep, Candy said, "Oh, good. Freddy's home."

At the sound of the cars approaching, Candy's brother stepped out of the house. He was about medium height and very skinny, with a mop of black hair. His skin hung on him loosely, as if he'd recently lost a great deal of weight. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a dirty tee shirt and wore flip-flops on his feet. He held a cannon in his right hand. At least, it looked like a cannon to Chuck. In reality it was a Colt Anaconda .44 magnum revolver with an 8" barrel. Casey looked at it with appreciation. It took a strong person to wield that weapon effectively, but it had the stopping power of a freight train.

Candy said, "Oh, I hope he's not high...but, he needs a coat. It's not warm out..."

She was out of the car the moment it stopped. "Freddy, you'll get a cold. You need your coat, sweetie. It's like fifty degrees. Come on."

He gave her a weak lopsided grin and put the weapon down on a folding chair. "Stop being mom. You're my baby sister." He wrapped her in a loose hug and kissed the top of her head. "Who're your friends?"

The five others had unloaded from the two cars by this point. Candy said, "Guys, this is my brother Freddy. Freddy, this is Chuck and his girlfriend Sarah. And their friends Casey, Jim and ….Mr. Reis. I never did get your first name, Mr. Reis."

"Just Reis is fine," said Reis, who apparently could talk after all.

They shook hands. Candy said, "They need to pick up the computer thing..."

"Disk," said Freddy.

"Yeah, the computer disk I gave you the other day to hold for me," said Candy.

Freddy studied the group for a few moments and said, startled, "Holy shit. Your friend really was a spy. I thought you were kidding."

"No. I wasn't kidding. He really was a spy. For real. Casey and Sarah killed two men at my house just before. Bad guys who wanted to take it." She sounded both horrified and excited at the action she'd seen.

Freddy looked at them with quizzical surprise. Casey nodded once. Freddy blew out a long breath. "Holy shit. Ok, then. Let's get you the disk."

"Thanks." Casey said, with a nod to the pistol, "That's a fine weapon, Freddy." Freddy picked it up and carried it inside.

"My favorite pistol. You like guns, Casey?"

"Yeah. I do."

"I've got quite the collection. All but a handful are for sale, so if you see something you like, make me an offer."

"I'll keep that in mind. Why are you selling?"

"I'm an addict. Opioids. I'm selling my guns to buy drugs," said Freddy, matter-of-factly.

"That's rough," said Casey, eyeing him with curiosity. In Casey's experience, such calm acceptance of addiction was rare. But the signs were there – jumpy, wired, shallow breathing. He was coming down from a high.

"Yeah. It sucks. Construction work. Got hurt and took permanent disability. Docs gave me oxy for the pain. Now I'm addicted to the shit. Tried to get off, but no go. It sucks. Luckily, this place is paid for, otherwise I'd have lost it to the bank for sure."

"There are programs. Programs to help," said Sarah.

"Oh, I know. I've been to Duffy's in Calistoga. Only so much coverage you can get to pay for that stuff, though. And my heart wasn't really in it, you know? Without that, I'm just wasting resources. Other people need that help too. It's a fucking epidemic."

They had followed him inside. The cabin was a single room, with the kitchen area along one wall, a table and chairs centered and a couch farther along to the opposite wall. Behind the couch, against the wall, was a gun cabinet with several long guns inside. It was a pretty spartan home. Freddy didn't have much in the way of personal knick-knacks, unless he had sold them all.

He walked over to a small table along the far wall and opened a drawer. Moving aside a pistol he removed a computer disk in a translucent blue plastic holder from the drawer. He handed it to Candy, who handed it to Chuck. Chuck took out his laptop and turned it on. He said to Sarah and Casey, "After chasing this thing around northern California, let's make sure it's the right one."

"Good idea," growled Casey.

Reis was by the still open door, looking out. "Guys," he said.

A small drone was landing in the front yard of the home, between the cabin and their cars. Mead said, "Hey, Freddy, you have any neighbors who mess around with drones?"

"Nope. Why?"

"Aw, shit," said Mead, drawing his Glock 17 from beneath his jacket.

Casey and Sarah hurried outside to look at the now grounded drone. From inside the house, looking at the contents of the disk, Chuck murmured, "What the hell?" Then, the excitement clear in his voice, he yelled loud enough for Sarah and Casey to hear him outside, "This is it, guys. This is the disk we were looking for." He ejected it from the computer and re-sealed it in the plastic case, then tucked it into his messenger bag.

"Roger that," called Casey. He turned to Sarah, who had a look of concern on her face. "Einerson?"

"Why not? The son of a bitch has been on our heels this whole mission. Guess I'd be surprised if we missed him here."

"He's got some crazy luck," said Casey.

"Yeah. Some luck," said Sarah, with a scowl. They held each other's gaze for a few extra moments, communicating silently.

They went to the SUV they were driving and opened a concealed compartment in the rear. Each of them removed an M-4 carbine, the shortened version of the military's standard M-16, each rifle had the M-26 shotgun accessory mounted underneath. The weapon was two guns in one, a rifle firing bullets and a shotgun firing 12 gauge shotgun rounds. It was a bit bulkier than the normal rifle, but they didn't know what Einerson would bring to the party and they wanted to be prepared. Casey sort of hoped Einerson brought the crossbow. He was growing fond of it.

By the time they had gotten back to the cabin, Freddy had given a Colt AR-15 to Reis, a Remington .750 Woodsmaster to Mead, and kept a Remington 700 for himself. Clearly both Chuck and Candy, the only unarmed members of the group, were uncomfortable with the extensive firepower on display, but they kept that discomfort to themselves.

Only moments later two black SUV's (did these things come in any other color?) rounded the turn in the road about two hundred yards from the cabin. Casey idly contemplated Einerson's funding and decided that someone with deep pockets was bankrolling the Icelandic merc.

Reis put his weapon to his shoulder and took aim, but Casey said, "Hold off, Reis. We don't even know if that's Einerson yet. Mead take the back. These guys have shown the ability to flank us once already today." Mead moved to comply. "Freddy, how you doing?"

Freddy replied, "Sort of freaked out, honestly. Never done this before, but I'll hold it together. You sound like this shit happens to you every day."

Chuck said, "Casey is a Major in the Marines."

Freddy gave a short grin and said, "All right. Devil Dogs." Casey gave an affirmative grunt. Mentally, though, he was very unhappy with the tactical situation. They were sitting ducks in the cabin. There wasn't even any material at hand to build a decent fortified position. Unless Einerson was stupid enough to attack frontally, they were in a difficult spot. If he could rearrange things he'd have his entire team out the back door and into the hills behind the cabin. Take the high ground and either snipe at the enemy from afar or make a long loop and flank them. Either way, he would gain the initiative in the contest. The problem was, though, that neither Chuck nor Candy were combatants and God alone knew the level of training or fitness of the others. They had to protect Fleming's disk, and, Casey reminded himself, the country's only Intersect.

Casey saw the SUVs pull to a stop just behind their own cars, the doors open and Einerson and roughly a half a dozen armed men get out of the cars, all with weapons in their hands. The men began to spread out across the front yard and approach the house with their guns raised. Einerson had left the crossbow at home and armed himself with an assault rifle for this venture. Well, that's that then. In a TV show, the good guys would announce to the bad guys that they were alert and waiting for them and give them a chance to surrender peacefully. This wasn't a TV show.

Casey said, "Call off your targets to each other so we're coordinated." Each of them picked a different target. "Right," said Casey. "Ready...Fire." Five weapons went off at once and three of Einerson's mercenaries fell dead and two more appeared wounded. The men, including Einerson and the wounded, quickly sought cover behind their parked trucks. Mead, covering the rear, had not fired his weapon.

"Yeah," bellowed Freddy. "Got you, you son of a bitch." Gunfire from outside began to pepper the thin walls of the cabin. Each bullet passed through leaving a small round hole in the wall. The windows shattered, throwing glass along the floor.

"Ok, everybody. Keep down. Bartowski, take Candy and find some cover."

"Umm...aren't we under cover now? I mean ...you know...hidden?"

"Yeah, you are concealed, but you aren't under cover. Cover can stop a bullet. A curtain is concealment. A boulder is cover. You have to learn the difference. Go over to the kitchen. Fridge, stove, big pieces of metal. Move one away from the wall and get the two of you behind it."

"Ok, Case." He took Candy and moved to comply.

"Freddy, any chance your neighbors will hear the gunfight and call the cops? Bring us reinforcements?"

"No, Major. This sounds like a typical Saturday here." He gave Casey a lopsided grin. Casey grunted. He hated to admit it, but he liked the guy.

"Cell phones?" Casey asked Freddy.

"Nope. Dead zone. Never get any coverage up here."

They settled down. Time passed. The volume of firing slowed as both sides took the occasional shot at the other if someone stuck their head up. After a while a round clipped Freddy on the left arm. "Shit," he exclaimed. At a glance, Casey could tell it wasn't a serious wound. Candy, though, reacted as his sister and left cover to tend to her brother.

"No, Candy. Get back with Chuck," Casey said, he was standing in the center of the room, watching the fighting.

Sarah said, "Movement." One of Einerson's men leapt up behind the truck. He threw something and ducked back down. It was a great throw and the object landed on the front porch. Through the open door, Casey saw it and yelled "GRENADE."

Candy was still standing on her way to Freddy. Casey reacted as he'd been trained so many years ago, he put his feet closest to the grenade, his head farthest, and hit the floor, but he tackled Candy on his way down to cover her with his body. The grenade went off with a loud bang.

Einerson's men, predictably, took advantage of that explosion to charge across the open ground to the cabin. Between Sarah, Freddy and Reis, who had not left their positions by the windows, they killed two of the men, driving the others back. Now Einerson's men were seriously outnumbered. The shooting eased as Einerson's men regrouped and tried to come up with a plan.

Casey said to Candy, as he was disentangling himself from her and standing up, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," she replied, shaken. "You saved my life. You saved my life. Thank you, Casey."

"Welcome," he said gruffly, but with a little smile at her.

Chuck said, "Casey, you're bleeding." He was. Blood was soaking through the back of his shirt. Casey removed the shirt. There was a shallow two inch long cut behind his left shoulder. Chuck described the wound to Casey.

He said, "Ok. Walker can stitch me up later. We don't have time for that now." Casey grabbed a sugar bowl from the kitchen counter and a roll of duct tape from a nearby shelf. "Pour some sugar into the wound, then cover it with the tape. That will disinfect it, stop the bleeding and allow me to keep fighting."

"Sugar disinfects?" asked Chuck.

"Yup," said Casey. "When you're done, do the same to Freddy's arm."

"Right, Case."

Chuck took care of Casey, then moved to tend to Freddy's wound. When he was done, Casey said, "Freddy?"

"Yeah, Major?"

"Flatten the tires on their trucks."

"Right." His Remington 700, firing the heaviest round of the five of them (not counting Mead, who was still covering the back) was the ideal choice to make sure their trucks couldn't be used to take to the hills to flank them. His rifle boomed six times and six tires flattened.

Before Casey could thank him, Mead yelled, "Yeah, at last." His rifle boomed once.

Casey said to the others, "Look alive in front. If they sent guys around back, they'll attack on both sides at once."

"No movement, Case," said Sarah.

Casey moved to Mead, "What'd you see?"

"One guy. Tried to come over the crest of the hill over there. I got him." Casey did, indeed, see a body out there. He clapped Mead on the shoulder in approbation.

He moved over to Sarah and Reis. "Mead got one. How many do you think are left?"

Sarah said, "Two, including Einerson." Reis nodded in agreement.

"Any movement over there?"

Both Sarah and Reis shook their heads.

Casey said, "I'd love to know if they are still behind those trucks."

"I can do that. Hold on," said Chuck. He took out his phone and began to enter information. Soon, the drone on the grass in front of the house began to lift off. "These drones use WiFi for control. I just hacked into Einerson's WiFi control frequency, changed his password and took over the drone. We sell these at the Buy More. And...there it is..." They looked outside and the drone was now hovering about a hundred feet up. Chuck hit some more buttons on his phone and the video feed from the drone was routed to him. He could clearly see the men on the far side of the trucks. One of them took aim at the drone and fired. The drone feed died and the drone crashed to the ground.

"Good job," said Casey. "Didn't last long, but spotted the enemy for us." He clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "It'll be getting dark soon. I don't fancy sitting here all night with those assholes taking pot shots at us." He addressed himself to Sarah and Reis, "If you both and Freddy here can lay down some cover fire, I'll bring the fight to them. We're sure where they are now, thanks to Chuck. I can get them in an enfilade and clean house."

"Excellent plan, except you are wounded. I'll go and do it," said Sarah.

"I'm fine," said Casey.

"Me too, and I haven't lost any blood and my left shoulder isn't stiff. Besides, General, I need you here to command the troops," she gave him a small grin.

Casey considered her argument and came to agreement. "Ok, don't get killed, Sarah. I wouldn't want to have to deal with Chuck," he said, with a tight smile. She nodded.

She moved over to the edge of the open door. She looked at Chuck and gave him a small smile and blew him a kiss. He blew her a kiss back, his face a mask of worry. At a sign from Casey, Reis, Freddy and Casey began to pepper fire at Einerson's trucks and the men hidden behind them. Just enough to ensure that the men kept their heads down.

Sarah, trusting her men not to shoot her in the back, sprinted to the close side of the trucks. Squatting down, she made her way to the rear of the last truck. Keeping her gun up and ready, she took out her phone and opened the camera app. She eased it around the edge of the truck, close to the ground and looked at the screen, showing an empty area behind the truck. Moving carefully, so as not to brush against the truck and jostle it, she eased around the corner, now hugging the back of the truck.

This was the one to be concerned about. Unless they had spread out, they would be around this corner. Again, she led with her camera. This time she saw the men. Einerson and a wounded man were about fifteen yards away from her, huddled together. She put away her phone, brushed some errant strands of hair out of her eyes, and took a deep steadying breath. She put her weapon to her shoulder and spun around the corner of the truck, standing up as she did so. The fire from the house stopped abruptly.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS OR YOU'RE DEAD," she bellowed.

Both men stood and turned to face her. Einerson's wounded man began to raise his gun towards her. She fired two rounds into his chest, killing him. At the last shot, her rifle clicked empty. Einerson grinned at her and said, "Asni." He raised his weapon slowly, savoring the moment. That's when she shot him twice in the chest with the shotgun mounted underneath her rifle. He fell with a look of surprise on his face.

She called out, "I'm done here. Both down."

"Roger that. Good job, Walker." She checked the bodies, but both were dead. She let out a long breath. She knew she would be exhausted later, as the adrenaline wore off. She trudged back up to the house. With the attackers all dead, their little group was jittery and shaky, overdosing on adrenaline. Ears ringing from the constant gunfire. The air smelled of cordite. Hell, their clothes smelled of cordite. Freddy got up and took a pill to steady his nerves. Nobody tried to stop him.

Sarah put down her weapon and said, "Casey, one of us should drive out to get cell phone reception and call for some cleaners."

As she said it, Mead took his Glock from beneath his jacket and fired point blank into the back of Reis' head twice, killing him instantly. Reis had been standing closest to him and still held his weapon. Mead was shifting the aim of his gun to Casey when he realized to his shock that both Casey and Sarah had already drawn on him with their pistols and were holding him at gunpoint with rock steady aim.

"Damn, you guys are fast. You're as good as they say. I figured I could take you all out nice and easy," he said, as he grabbed Freddy around the neck and pulled him in as a human shield. "Come 'ere, you," he said to Freddy.

"Not fast, Mead. We just didn't trust you. We were waiting for you to make your move. Didn't have to be a genius to figure out that someone was feeding info to Einerson. Not a lot of choices here, huh? It was either you or Reis. Guess it was you."

"Einerson? Fucking idiot. Screwed up this whole operation. I ought to make a note to myself. When you hire an attack dog, keep it on the leash a whole lot better than I did with that asshole."

"Hire him to do what, Mead?" asked Sarah.

"To get Fleming's files, of course. Which reminds me, hey, Chuck, give me the disk from your bag or I kill Freddy." Chuck stood there looking at Mead and Freddy, but didn't move. He held Candy, who was barely holding in her panic.

Sarah said, "Oh, come on, you know that's not going to happen, Mead. You know you aren't leaving here with the files. The only question is if you are leaving here alive."

"Oh, I'm a survivor, Sarah."

"You want to survive, Mead, let Freddy go," growled Casey.

"Naw, I don't think so. Brad Pitt here and I, we are going to walk out of here with those files," said Mead.

"Why do you want them so bad?" asked Sarah.

"I don't know. My boss told me to get them, so that's what I'm going to do. Hired Einerson to be the go-between with Fleming. Fucking Fleming. Like Hamlet. I'll sell them to you. I won't sell them to you. I'll sell them to you. Asshole was worse than my ex-wife. Changing his mind like he changed his socks. After the first few discussions, Einerson had made it clear that the bullshit was over. That's why Fleming ran. He was in one of his "no deal" moods. But then the moron calls you guys for help and then fucking hides from you. I mean seriously. What the fuck? That made no sense, right?"

"How'd you know we were going to look for the disk? How'd you find us?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, come on. It was clear that Graham would send a real team after Fleming didn't resurface in a couple of days. All I had to do was stake out Fleming's car in the parking lot. That's where I ran into you." He said the last phrase with an intonation that indicated invisible air quotes. Freddy was struggling. Mead jammed the barrel of his pistol hard into the side of Freddy's head. "Calm down, genius."

"Long time sitting in a parking lot waiting for us to arrive," said Sarah.

"Naw. Motion activated camera on the car. Got a video on my phone of you searching the car and wandered on over to meet you by accident," he said.

"There was no camera. I searched the car. I would have found it," said Sarah.

"Not on Fleming's car. Of course, you would have found it. It was on my car, parked next to Fleming's car. It's why we've been using Reis' car since then. I didn't want you to notice the same car and make the connection."

"So, if Einerson was your man, why help us fight him off here?" asked Casey.

"The asshole went off on his own. Slipped the leash. Probably figured whatever was on the disk could earn him more than I was paying if he took it to the open market. I used him at the park in San Francisco, but even then the guy was unreliable. Why shoot Fleming before he can tell us where the disk was? It was stupid. Made no sense. Don't even get me started on using a goddamn crossbow. What a clown. I used him to get the book from the library, but, of course, the disk wasn't there. Smart, Sarah, figuring out the book reference. Smart girl...I mean, woman.. You know, smart woman... Anyway, this morning was a totally botched operation. Guns blazing again. Candy didn't even have the disk there, but he didn't wait to find out. I cut him loose after that. Don't really know how he followed us up here. Maybe the drones? We could look for a tail, but not looking up. Anyway, this goddamn fiasco just now...serves the asshole right to get himself and his men dead. Tactical idiot in addition to everything else stupid about him. Just fucking standing out there waiting to get shot. More food for me."

"Is that what this is about, Mead? Feathering your own nest? Selling out your country for whatever is on that disk?" growled Casey.

Mead's face darkened and his voice grew angry as he said, "No. I'm a patriot. And I'm part of a group of patriots. You'll see. Given time, I could convince you to join us. It's men and women like us who will save this country. Hard men and women who will do what's necessary. The lever that moves the nation to safety will turn on us. We call ourselves..."

He had gotten more animated as he spoke, and took the gun away from Freddy's head to gesture. Freddy reacted immediately. He grabbed the wrist of Mead's gun hand with both of his hands and sunk his teeth into Mead's hand. Mead screamed and struggled to pull the hand away. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter, and Mead managed to punch Freddy with his left fist hard enough to knock him sideways to the ground next to the couch. Landing on the floor, Freddy spit out a bloody hunk of meat from Mead's hand.

Mead looked at his bloody hand and said to Freddy, "Son of a bitch. That was a good job, kid...Wait..." Mead's eyes widened in shock and fear. From the floor Freddy fired both barrels of the shotgun he'd taken from under the couch by his side. Mead flew back and hit the wall, his chest a mess.

Sarah and Casey rushed to Mead's side. He reached out and put a hand on Sarah's arm. His voice was weak and wet as he said, "Sarah... take the apartment with Chuck. You two are so much in love. It's just great to …" Something in his chest gave way and a fresh wave of blood began to pour out of him. He looked down at himself and said, sounding disgusted, "Aw, shit." And he died.

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A/N2: There aren't actually any homes where I placed Freddy's cabin. That area near the Glory Hole is Putah Creek State Wildlife Area. I deliberately selected an area without human habitation so that none of the actual residents of the area who read Chuck fanfiction could write in to complain to me that I mischaracterized their neighborhood. Not that the actual residents won't complain, they just lack fingers to type their complaints.

A/N3: You'd be hard pressed to find Americans today who don't know of the terrible affliction of opioid addiction and the effect it's had on our nation. Duffy's is a real rehab center in Calistoga and was operating at the time this story is set.

A/N4: "Enfilade" is where the attacking force comes up to the edge of the defending force so that it can fire straight down the line at one after another of the defenders. Think of soldiers in a trench and the attacker straddling the trench and firing down its length.

A/N5: "Asni" is "Ass" as in a donkey in Icelandic. It is equivalent in usage to "moron".

A/N6: What do you guys think? Too much Tarantino and not enough Fedak/Schwartz? Leave a review and let me know.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: I'm beginning to think no one owns Chuck, because that's all I keep hearing.

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Sarah had driven halfway to Winters, the nearest town, before she got a cell signal. Once she did, the cleaners arrived within the hour, which was a nice surprise considering how far out in the country Freddy's place was. With them were a crew of paramedics, who tended to both Casey's and Freddy's wounds. Darkness had fallen, and they had set up large floodlights, illuminating the area so they could more effectively sanitize it.

After they had both been tended to, Casey said to Freddy, "You know, if you were military, you would have earned a Purple Heart this afternoon."

With his trademark lopsided grin, a little looser now that he'd self-medicated, he said, "Would be a helluvan honor, but I think I'd rather have avoided it, Major. I mean, all things considered."

"Yeah. Guess I can't say I blame you." He reached out and squeezed Freddy's uninjured arm. "You did good today. You held it together, even with that son of a bitch Mead. Not a lot of civilians could have done that."

"Thanks," he replied.

"You have potential. Be a shame to waste it," said Casey, giving him a long, serious look.

Freddy held the gaze for a little while then looked away, embarrassed. He said, "Yeah. I hear ya...I'm thinking maybe it's time to try again...maybe go back to Duffy's...figure out some way..."

"Give it another shot, huh?" asked Casey.

"Yeah. I guess. You know...see what comes of it."

Casey took out a business card with his name, rank, and cell number. He handed it to Freddy and said, "If you think I can be any help, give me a call."

Freddy took the card, studied it for a bit and said, "Thanks, Major. I'll do that." They shook hands.

Next, Casey went to talk to Candy who was saying a heartfelt goodbye to Chuck and Sarah. They were leaving her at the cabin to stay with her brother for a while. The siblings were both a little rattled by the day's events.

As Casey got to them, Candy, sounding chipper, was saying to Sarah, "It would be fun. You know...we could hang out. Do girl stuff."

"I'd like that, Candy. It's a date. The next time I'm up this way. Promise."

Candy turned to Chuck and said, "And as for you. Bryce was right. You're a good guy. I'm really happy you got to me before the bad guys did. Thanks, Chuck. And take good care of my friend here, ok?"

"I will, Candy. I promise. You take care too, huh? You and your brother both. Bryce would be really, really proud of what you did for him. Not just today, but before...getting the disk from the library too. Really proud." He gave her a gentle smile and a hug.

She smiled back and said, "Thanks." Then, a little sadder, "I'll miss him."

"Yeah," said Chuck. "Us too."

They went to the SUV, leaving Casey alone with her. Casey said, "Bye, Candy. Thanks for all your help."

She said, a hand resting lightly on his arm, "You know, Casey, you saved my life today. Nobody has ever done that. And you got hurt doing it. I really owe you a big one. Maybe...I don't know...maybe if you are up my way again...maybe you can look me up?" She looked at him with a slightly nervous expression.

"It's ok, Candy. You don't owe me anything." He saw her expression crumble just a little and continued, "But you know what I would like? I'd like to take you out to dinner. Talk for a bit. Like a date, maybe. Can we do that? Next time I'm around?"

Her mood brightened instantly and she gave him a huge smile and said, "Yeah. We can do that. I think I'd like that a lot, Casey. I'm looking forward to it, in fact. You know," she looked at him from under her eyelashes, looking very pretty, "I make a pretty good part-time spy's girlfriend." Her laugh was musical as she kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll bet you do, Candy. I'll bet you do."

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When they were well away from the cabin and on their way back to Palo Alto Chuck said, "I found something really weird when I opened Fleming's files. I'm in there. There's a file with my name on it in the Omaha Project files." He was taking his laptop out of his bag and turning it on.

"What are you doing?" asked Sarah.

"I'm going to open the file with my name on it," said Chuck.

"Sure you want to see that, kid? No telling what's there," said Casey.

"Yeah, pretty sure. I mean, I've been under the impression that I'm involved in all this stuff sort of randomly, almost by accident. But here I am in Fleming's file on whatever Project Omaha is. Somehow I was in a CIA file back when I was at Stanford. That's got to be interesting, I think."

Casey nodded and with an expression that said, 'yeah, guess it would be.'

Chuck inserted the disk and found the file. After a moment, he said, "It's a video...holy shit...pull over, Case...we should all watch it together."

Casey pulled to the side of the road, put on the car's hazard lights, and he and Sarah twisted around in their seats to see the screen of Chuck's laptop. He turned the volume to max and restarted the video clip.

It was Fleming's office at Stanford. Fleming was behind his desk and filled the screen, adjusting the camera and speaking into it. "Test Subject 032. Bartowski. This will be his first interview." He turned from the camera and pushed a button on his desk phone. "Send Chuck in." Moments later the door to his office opened and Bryce Larkin stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Bryce? This isn't a good time. I'm waiting for another student."

"Chuck Bartowski. He never got your message," said Bryce, sitting down in one of Fleming's office chairs.

"What are you talking about?" asked Fleming.

"You put Chuck on the CIA recruitment track."

"It's not up to me, Bryce. But they want him for the Omaha Project..." said Fleming.

"That's a military operation," said Bryce with concern in his voice.

"I should never have told you that."

"Yeah, but you did. They'll turn Chuck into..."

"I'm required to send all the top test results to the Agency."

"I want my friend out of this," said Bryce.

"He's a perfect candidate. The key words in his essay responses correlate to 98% of the subliminal images in the exam."

Bryce looked distinctly unhappy. "You don't get it. Chuck's a good person. He's got too much heart for this kind of work. He's no operative. You can't put him out in the field. He won't survive." Bryce was actually yelling by the end of his words and he banged his hand on the table for emphasis.

"The Agency is not going to let go of a recruit this promising. The amount of information he can retain..."

"They're not going to give him a choice?"

"He's in no matter what."

Bryce looked away from the camera for a few moments, clearly deep in thought. Finally, he said slowly, "If he cheated on the exam. Copied all the answers...that would invalidate the results, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," admitted Fleming.

"Good, now you're gonna help me, Professor," said Bryce. Fleming turned once again towards the camera and the tape ended as he turned off the camera.

There was silence in the car for a few moments. Casey put the car back in gear and moved back onto the road to continue the drive to Palo Alto.

Chuck said, with wonder in his voice, "Bryce framed me for cheating to save me. Why didn't he just tell me that?"

"He was already recruited by then. He might have felt he couldn't," said Sarah.

"That's bullshit though. He wouldn't have started work for the Agency until after graduation. He wasn't a spy yet," said Chuck. "Fleming even admitted he shouldn't have told him about the project."

"True. Well, he had his reasons for framing you. Maybe he had his reasons for the rest of it. Breaking into the Intersect and sending it to you," said Sarah. She was still twisted around in her seat to look at Chuck.

Finally, Casey said, "What the fuck, guys? Why would Larkin frame you to keep you out of the CIA and then, five years later, send you the Intersect?"

"It makes no sense," agreed Sarah, still trying to digest this new development.

Chuck said, "I know. He destroyed our friendship because he thought he was protecting me. And then he turns around and puts the biggest ever bullseye on my back by sending me this thing in my head. It's borderline schizophrenic. Casey's right. What the fuck?"

"This video does seem to indicate that you are a good candidate for the Intersect. Isn't that what Fleming said? The amount of information you can retain from subliminal images? I guess Bryce would have had his reason, but..." said Sarah.

"And just who does that asshole think he is?" asked Casey angrily. "Making this kind of decision for you? Not even talking to you about it? Destroying your life because he wants to protect you? Protect you?! You have the right to make your own decisions, for Chrissakes. What a douchebag. I'm glad I killed him. You don't need friends like him, kid."

"Oh, I know it, Case. We weren't friends. Before yes, but not after that."

"Well, it sounds like he really did think pretty highly of you, Chuck. What he said to Fleming on that tape matches what Candy said Bryce had told her about you. That you were a good guy," said Sarah.

"Yeah. Don't really know what the take-away is there. That this is the way he treats a good guy? That he'd really, really have screwed me over if he thought I was a bad guy? That I should consider myself lucky that I'm not locked-up in the sexual predator wing of a prison in Pakistan? That he was just doing me another favor when he started to sleep with my girlfriend? Maybe he thought she was ultimately not the right one for me? You know, that he was looking out for me there too?"

"Wait," said Casey. "What? He started to sleep with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah. After he got me kicked out of school to protect me from joining the CIA, my girlfriend dumped me and Bryce took up with her."

"Jesus. What an asshole. I changed my mind. I'm sorry I killed him. Now I wish he was alive so I could beat the shit out of him and then kill him again."

"And what's with Fleming? Why keep this video clip? This should have been destroyed right away. Why give this to the CIA?" asked Sarah.

"Well, he did think he was giving it to Bryce. At least that's what he said. To destroy. He thought Bryce would destroy it," said Chuck.

"Yeah, but what if he didn't?" said Sarah.

"You're right. Even if Bryce had never sent me the Intersect, this would have brought me to the CIA's attention. Five years later, but for sure. What the hell? Guess it's one more question for Fleming to answer. Dude's gonna be doing a lot of talking," said Chuck.

"Yeah, he is," said Casey, with an angry growl.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the dark road illuminated only by their headlights. Chuck was thinking about what Bryce had done to him, both at Stanford and then more recently. Finally, Chuck said, "Parts of the spy life really suck. Lying to everybody sucks. The violence sucks. Today sucked. All the violence today. Killing all those men. I don't like it. I mean, I know it's necessary, and it was self-defense and all, but it was terrible." Casey started to say something, but Chuck cut him off. "No, no, let me finish, Case. Please. The only reason I can be here now to face all this is because of you both. You've changed my life. You are the best thing to ever happen to me...Sarah, you being my girlfriend is the best, best thing that ever happened to me, by a long, long shot, but I'm deliberately not talking about my personal life here...working with you ...with you both, has given me purpose. I'm doing good and helping people. I feel that what I'm doing is important after five years of ...well, nothing. I want to be doing this. I'm not here just because with his last act on this Earth Bryce figured out yet another way to fuck me by putting this thing into my brain...I mean, I know that's right. I know that's how I ended up here and why you both work with me, but ...I want to be here, even if I don't want this thing inside my head. And I figure that eventually someone will figure out how to get this thing out of my head, and when that happens I'll go back to my old boring, but safe, life. But in the meantime, I want to be doing this, even with all the truly sucky parts, like Einerson and his men today...like Mead...Mead killing Reis. That really sucked. The fact that Mead bugged my messenger bag when he brought us sandwiches in Fleming's office and was listening to us for the last two days, at least until the bug's battery ran out. It all sucked. But even so I still wouldn't want to be anyplace else...Anyplace other than right here with you both...doing what we are doing. That's all. That's all I wanted to say."

Sarah reached out and squeezed his hand and gave him a soft smile. "I'm glad you're here with us too, Chuck."

"You're a good guy, Bartowski, but if you ever try to quote me on that I'll beat the crap out of you," said Casey with a small smile.

"Cone of silence, Case. Cone of silence."

"Right, see? I have no idea what you are talking about there," said Casey.

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Some time later, they were still on the road. Chuck was driving one-handed and holding Sarah's hand with his other hand. Casey was stretched out on the back seats, snoring quietly.

Speaking softly, so as not to wake Casey, Chuck said, "When did Bryce go rogue?"

"March...oh, you are wondering about Valentine's Day...yeah, we were still a couple on Valentine's Day this year. He told me he had to be out of town for work. I didn't ask...not my business. I mean, we were partners...professional partners...but each of us would get solo assignments from time to time too. No big deal. Secrecy, you know. He wouldn't have asked me and I didn't ask him. Guess I know what his solo assignment was in mid-February this year." She gave a rueful laugh.

"I'm sorry," said Chuck softly and squeezed her hand.

Sarah was silent for a while and finally said, "Thanks, Chuck. You don't have to be, though. I've been thinking about it a lot since this afternoon. I'm sort of … it's weird...I...I don't care. Weird, right? I actually don't care. Yeah, he was sleeping with Candy while he and I were a couple, but it doesn't bother me. I know what he was thinking. He was servicing an asset..."

"Servicing?" asked Chuck.

"Well, really servicing, I guess...just business. I'm sure Candy isn't an official asset, but he got her involved in the spy life, so he thought of her that way. They were both professionals, as it were. It was transactional. He didn't love her. It was just business. Did he like her? Probably. Hell, I like her. She's a nice girl in an unfortunate line of work. But he didn't love her. He would have considered it no big deal." Sarah was silent for a while looking at northern California pass by her windows. Eventually she said, half to herself, "I don't even care. Hmmm." She looked at Chuck silently for long seconds as he drove. When he turned to her, she squeezed his hand and gave him a little smile, then went back to looking out the window. She was tired and her hair was a mess and she was dirty from the day and smelled of cordite and sweat, and in the soft light from the dashboard, Chuck thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Ten miles later she said, "I hate to admit it, but it was good to see him on that video though. He looked so much younger, but it was only a few years. Good to see him. We were a good, effective team for a while there. I want to remember that part."

"I know what you mean. Me too. It did bring back some happy memories. He and I were good friends for years. It must have tore him up to do what he did to me. We had a lot of good times, laughs. Rest in peace, Bryce," said Chuck. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed his in return.

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The next morning, Beckman and Graham looked out at Team Bartowski from the TV in the Palo Alto hotel suite.

"Do you believe Mead's story? About Fleming?" asked Beckman.

Sarah said, "It hangs together. It answers some questions I didn't get to ask Fleming. It never made any sense that Fleming would bolt when he saw Einerson in his classroom unless he recognized him and knew what he was there for. Einerson had to have known that Fleming had downloaded something and Fleming had to know that Einerson knew that. If he had been approached by Einerson already and not contacted Black Code, why didn't he? Well, dealing with these renegade spies would answer those questions. Having discussions about selling them the Project Omaha files."

"What is Project Omaha, anyway?" asked Chuck.

"It's the military spin-off of the Intersect. The CIA was further along in the research than the Pentagon, so they sub-contracted their research to the Agency," said Beckman.

"Well, it seems that the rogue element in the Intelligence Community is after the technology," said Sarah. "One thing we don't know is if Fleming knew Bryce was rogue when he contacted him months ago. Mead never said anything about Bryce. And we are no closer to finding out why Bryce went rogue in the first place. Did Bryce have anything to do with this organization Mead was talking about or did he go rogue for an entirely different reason? Is it safe to assume that Mead was part of the same group that first protected and then killed Zarnow and that you both have been trying to get a handle on for a while? He was just about to give us the name of his cabal when he was killed."

"We must work off that assumption, at least for the time being, that they are the same. To assume otherwise is to contemplate two separate, internal conspiracies, and we are not prepared to go there. Not at all," said Beckman with a shudder.

"If Mead was telling the truth, they had gotten to Fleming as well, even if he was not a fully committed participant," said Graham.

"Well," said Chuck, "as Sarah said, it explains why he bolted from the classroom when he saw Einerson. And why he wrote down the book location for the dead drop."

"What do you mean, Chuck?" asked Beckman.

"Think about it, General. He wanted me to give that note to Bryce not knowing Bryce is dead. Why? It was Bryce's dead drop. He was the last person in the world who needed that information written down. The location. All he had to tell me was to tell Bryce to service his dead drop. Done. But he didn't do that. He wrote it down. Not for Bryce, obviously, but for someone who didn't know the location of the drop. Some third party. Who? Einerson is the most likely candidate. Mead's story answers that puzzle too, if we can assume he was ready to trade the disk for a payoff. Maybe Fleming has a different explanation. I don't know."

Casey continued in the analysis in an angry growl, "He's got a lot of explanations yet to give us. Why was he hiding from us, for example? He calls for help and then makes it tough for us to find him. Hell, he could have just bought a burner phone, called Black Code again, and waited on a street corner for us to pick him up. No big deal."

"Agreed, Major. Fleming will be interrogated thoroughly to answer those questions. He's already been relocated to a secure CIA medical facility," said Beckman.

"Another thing," said Casey, holding his hand up to forestall them from cutting the connection. "The man whose cabin we were at...who held the disk for Bryce's girl. Frederick Reynolds."

"Yes, Major?" asked Beckman.

"I want to get him into the addiction rehab clinic the Intelligence Community runs in Wyoming. The one for officers and assets who have a problem. He's developed an opioid addiction after trying to come off a doc's prescription."

"He's a civilian. I don't think we can use government resources so freely, Major," said Beckman with a bit of a scowl.

"General, he held the disk with Fleming's files for us. He knows about my team. He knows about whatever Mead's outfit had running. He participated in the gunfight at the cabin. All that information in the mind of an addict might be a security risk. I consider it a matter of National Security that he receive treatment...vital National Security." Casey said them as if they were magic words. He was almost sure he saw a tiny smile on Graham's face. Certainly there was a sparkle in his brown eyes.

"Vital National Security?...Do you agree, Agent Walker?" Graham asked.

"One hundred percent, Sir. And, what's more, we all know that treatment is more effective with the support of family. I view it as essential that his sister accompany him to Wyoming. They should be there as long as it takes Freddy...Mr. Reynolds, to get clean and sober."

"An excellent idea," said Casey.

"I don't see any security ramifications here," said Beckman, but Graham seemed to ignore her.

"Chuck? Your view?" Graham was still concealing a smile, but maybe not quite as much.

"I concur wholeheartedly with Major Casey and Agent Walker. It is a matter of vital National Security." Chuck maintained a serious straight face, but looking at Graham's tiny smile it wasn't so easy to do so.

"Very well, then. My responsibility, General. I will make that happen, Team. Leave it to me," said Graham. Beckman looked sour, as if she had bitten into a lemon. Graham continued "Once again, a fine job, Team. Thank you all. And Chuck, a special thanks to you. I know heading back to Stanford wasn't easy for you. I want you to know that that difficulty is both recognized and appreciated."

"Thank you, Sir. One last thing, if I may. I'm in Fleming's Omaha files," said Chuck.

"Why?" asked Beckman.

"What do you mean?" asked Graham.

"Fleming taped meetings in his office. He taped a conversation he had with Bryce Larkin where they agreed to conspire to frame me for cheating on Fleming's exam to keep me out of the CIA."

Graham's face darkened immediately. "That makes no sense. Why keep you out of the CIA and then send you the Intersect? Sending you that ensures your involvement with us...with the Intelligence Community. What the hell was Larkin thinking?"

"I have no idea, Sir. And we can no longer ask him," said Chuck.

Graham said, "Framed you? Got you kicked out of Stanford? … Are you kidding me? Destroyed everything you had worked for...to keep you away from me...what the fuck? And yet...here you are. Well, maybe I can no longer ask Larkin, but I can sure as hell ask Fleming. I'm going to be having a long conversation with Fleming about a lot of things. A very long conversation." He sounded really, really angry, but it seemed the angrier he got, the quieter his voice became. Chuck hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of that anger, because it was pretty scary.

"Yes, Sir," said Chuck.

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AN2: Those of you who have been with me for a while now know of my antipathy to plot holes. This episode had more than its share. It took a bit of a longer story to try to close them. I hope I didn't miss any or (God forbid) create any of my own.

A/N3: The next chapter is either an epilogue to the Stanford arc or a prologue to the Payne arc. I'm not sure it matters too much. Suffice it to say, the event it depicts happens between those two arcs.


	40. Chapter 40

AN: Ownership of Chuck. There, I said it. I hope you're happy.

AN2: Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was sent by my employer to deliver some papers to five or six government offices in Washington, DC. I put on my nice suit and flew to our nation's capitol. One of the government offices I was to visit was the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. I had on my Ray-Bans and carried my little briefcase of papers and I thought I was James Bond, whereas in reality I was just a delivery guy in a suit. The DC cab let me off in front of the building and agreed to wait for me. I walked inside and was politely told by the man at reception to wait on the left side of the lobby where there were a few couches and armchairs assembled into a waiting area. Soon a pleasant man came down, took my papers, signed a receipt, and wished me a nice day. That's the whole story. But, to this day, whenever I see a movie or a TV show with a character walking across the large granite seal of the CIA from the floor of that lobby, I turn to my wife. Before I can say anything, she says, with one hand held up to silence me, "I know, I know, I know...you were there. Big whoop." Since I can no longer tell my wife this story, I thought I might burden you instead. Forgive me.

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Daniel Carroll, the President of Stanford University, was generally a pretty happy man. He'd started out life as a computer scientist and had been in on the ground floor of dozens of cutting-edge developments in the field. He had been credited with co-developing the architecture for two different computer operating systems in use around the world. As a scientist, he was widely recognized. His academic career was as successful as his scientific one. He had been a popular and sought-after professor at Stanford, then the Dean of Students and, finally, President of the University. Stanford was one of the most prestigious schools in the country and the Presidency was a huge honor (and responsibility). In that position, he regularly engaged with the most powerful and influential figures in the nation. Although, as President, much of his job was glad-handing and fundraising and his days were otherwise full running the school, he still managed to support and encourage developments in Silicon Valley. Many considered him a bit of a godfather to the explosive growth of the Internet and the computer industry as a whole. He delighted in the prominent platform his Presidential position afforded him to support causes special to him. He was proud of all that he'd accomplished and pleased with where life had brought him.

He stood looking for just a moment at the sixteen foot diameter circular seal of the Central Intelligence Agency composed of black and white inlaid granite in the polished lobby floor of the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He had seen this same seal in innumerable movies and TV shows. He was no more immune to the moment than others might be, and he thought to himself, 'yeah, this is pretty cool.'

He was with Dean Harvey Johnson from Stanford and a young CIA man who had introduced himself as Jerry Barker. It was his first time in CIA headquarters, but not his first time dealing with the Agency. During his time as Dean of Students at Stanford he had been the University's liaison with the Agency and had had many meetings and conference calls with various Agency officials. Since his elevation to University President, that particular task had fallen to Dean Johnson. That was the reason he had asked Johnson to accompany him to this meeting with Director Graham.

The meeting itself was a bit of a surprise, as he didn't have the Director on his calendar for this trip to DC. When his assistant emailed him that the Director had urgently requested a meeting at Langley while he was otherwise attending meetings in the city, Carroll readily accepted. He had dealt with Graham several times in the past and the men had a cordial relationship.

Barker took them through the vast lobby. He handed them visitor passes (it took a few moments to have one issued for Johnson, as the man's presence was unexpected) and gave them strict instructions to wear them at all times while in the Building. He used his own card key to escort them through the turnstiles and into the elevators. Shortly they were taken into the outer office of the Director of the CIA. Barker said to Graham's assistant, "President Carroll and Dean Johnson."

The man took their coats and nodded towards the closed door inviting them to go inside the inner office.

Barker opened the door and gestured for them to enter, saying, "Please." Carroll stepped through and smiled in greeting at the Director.

It was a large room with a large, tidy desk at one end, near the windows. Autumn sunlight poured through those windows to illuminate the room, but otherwise the overhead lights had been dimmed. This left Graham, standing behind the desk, very much in silhouette. Graham was almost six and a half feet tall and built like a pro football player. He seemed to fill the entire side of the office and block out the sunlight behind him.

Smiling, Carroll stepped forward with his hand extended and said, "Director Graham, so good to see you again. I have brought Dean Johnson here with me today. I hope it's alright. He's our newest..."

In silence, Graham's arm extended to point at Johnson. Carroll stopped talking in midsentence. The arm shifted to point to the door and, speaking in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper, Graham said, "Out."

Johnson stammered slightly in confusion until Barker took his arm gently and escorted him out of the office, closing the door on his way.

Stunned into silence Carroll stared at Graham who used the same pointing finger to point to a visitor's chair by the desk and say, "Sit."

Carroll knew something was wrong. Seriously, seriously wrong, but he had no clue what it might be.

Once Carroll sat, Graham planted himself in his desk chair and leaned back. He touched a button on his desk. The curtains behind him closed, pitching the room into darkness. He touched a button on his computer keyboard and the wall mounted TV to Carroll's right activated. He saw Professor Fleming fill the screen and say, "Test Subject 032. Bartowski. This will be his first interview." They watched the video through to its end.

Carroll felt sick to his stomach. 'Oh, no...oh, no,' he thought.

Without a word, Graham pressed the button on his keyboard and the video played a second time. When it had ended, Graham reached down to press the button a third time. Carroll said, "That's ...that's ..that's not necessary. I...I don't have to see it again." Graham took his hand away from the button and opened the curtains.

"How did you get this tape?" Carroll asked, when he finally found his voice.

"None of your business," Graham responded, still speaking barely above a whisper, but with fury etched into each word.

Carroll took a deep breath. This was very bad. "Do you know what happened to the young man? To Bartowski?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. He ended up in a dead end job fixing computers for minimum wage. Living in a room in his sister's apartment. Two months ago we found him and he started to work with us. Inside those two months, directly or indirectly, he has saved thousands of American lives without having gone through a single day of training. He has almost immediately become one of my top people. I trust him as much as I trust a member of my own family." He sounded as if he might come right across the desk and beat the living hell out of Carroll given the slightest provocation. Carroll knew it was absurd for him to be physically frightened of the Director of the CIA, but the man's size and fury were ...well, intimidating.

"It sounds like Larkin was one of yours too," said Carroll, trying desperately to get a handle on this situation that was just getting worse and worse.

"Yes, but never mind about Larkin. He's dead," said Graham.

"Well, Fleming's got tenure, but that isn't going to..."

"Forget Fleming. He's dead too," said Graham.

"What? Fleming's dead? How?" asked Carroll.

"He tried to sell government secrets to the wrong people. They killed him for it," said Graham, without softness or sympathy. "But you keep focusing on the other characters in this story. They aren't here. You are." He lifted a large velobound book off the desk and showed it to Carroll. "Do you know what this is? This is the University's report of the investigation into Bartowski's alleged cheating. It includes the transcript of the academic hearing conducted by the University and the decision to expel him. I've read every single word of it. Twice. Who was in charge of that investigation?"

"I was, when I was Dean of Students."

"Who presided over the hearing?"

"I did."

"Who made the decision to expel him?"

"You know I did," said Carroll.

"Exactly...So forget Fleming and Larkin. Their actions have no part in this conversation. You are the man responsible. This is on you. All of it. The way I see it there are two possibilities here." Carroll had to lean forward to hear Graham, as his voice was so low. "Either you were a part of the conspiracy with Larkin and Fleming to expel Chuck from Stanford and ruin his life or ….you are totally fucking incompetent and deserve to lose your job. I see no third possibility. This investigation was a fucking farce and the hearing itself was a goddamn travesty."

Shocked, Carroll managed to croak out, "I had no idea about Larkin and Fleming. About what they were trying to do to Bartowski. I had..."

"Then you are just stupid...and careless. And as a result of that ...inadequacy... an innocent young man has suffered grievously. You call this an investigation?" Graham tapped the book on the desk. "He was accused of selling the test key answers to other students. Who? ….Well, who? Name one... A single student who bought the answers. No?...can't? Ok, name a single student who claimed to have been offered the answers for sale. There were sixty-eight students in that class. Did anyone bother to ask each of them if they'd been offered the answers? Anyone? No... All you have is Larkin's testimony at the hearing that he'd 'heard' it somewhere. That the test answers were for sale and Chuck was selling. From who? Who'd he hear it from? Well? Were the results of the test skewed higher than normal, indicating that something unusual was happening? That the test key was previously distributed? Did anyone ask Fleming that question? There was no cross examination of Larkin or Fleming, of course, as Bartwoski wasn't granted the right to have counsel present at the hearing to determine his entire future. So that's it, some bullshit hearsay about the answers for sale. Did you even try to corroborate it? Look further into the money angle? Look for any increase in Bartowski's bank account balance from the money he made selling the test answers? Lifestyle changes as a result of a sudden influx of cash? Did you even ask anyone? Let me answer that for you. No, you didn't. Not one single fucking question along those lines. Not one.

"And there were people for you to ask who knew him well. There were five... five separate character witnesses for him... Five ...four faculty members, including both his thesis advisors, one of whom was from your own academic department, computer sciences. And the head of the IT help desk where he worked. Did you ask any of them? Again, I'll answer for you. No, you didn't. And then, of course, you chose to ignore what each one of them told you about Chuck being a good, honest guy. His two thesis advisors were so furious at your decision to expel him that each wrote a letter to the school's then President asking him to reverse your decision or at least institute a re-hearing. Their efforts turned out to be a waste of time."

Carroll remembered that well. One of those men had been a close friend before the Bartowski incident and was so angry at him that their friendship had ended immediately. Carroll had barely spoken to the man in the five years since. And now he discovered to his horror that the other man had been right all along. He felt like he was in a nightmare with no awakening. He wanted to throw up.

Graham continued in his weird furious whisper. "But, of course, you know Larkin found the test key under his bed. So that's conclusive evidence of cheating, right? Of course, because Chuck was the only one who had access to the area under his bed...except that that's not the case. We know Larkin did, obviously. The very student framing him was sharing that same room, so we know it wasn't secure enough...but you never looked into the rest of it. Who else had access to that room? Did you ever find out if the door to his room was locked? Was kept locked regularly? Ok. If the door to his bedroom wasn't locked how about the front door to the frat house, was that kept locked? How many boys in the house? Any of them have trouble with cheating in the past? Any of them in that class? Who the hell knows?...because you never fucking checked. This is the single most half-assed investigation I've ever seen.

"Chuck aced the test. Is that evidence of anything? Of course not. He aced all his tests throughout his time at Stanford. That's why he was at the top of the class. It proves nothing at all.

"And he supposedly took the answer key from the locked desk drawer. How did he do that? How did he get into Fleming's locked office? And then how did he get into the locked drawer? How did he avoid the security camera in the hallway of the building? Right? There was no video footage of him entering that office afterhours. Well, how did he manage that? Did you find any indication that he has the skills of a burglar? Knows how to pick a lock? Lock picks in his room? Any physical evidence that either lock had been tampered with? Scratches on the lock faces from the tension wrench slipping? Anything? Oh, that's right, you have no goddamn idea because nobody ever asked those fucking questions.

"Your own faculty told you about his skill with computers. It never occurred to you that if he was inclined to steal test answers he'd do it from his dorm room and with his computer? Apparently, it did not.

"A scholarship student, double major, top of the class, writing his theses. Plural...theses, not thesis...he was writing one for each of his two majors. A candidate for University honors. His professors and thesis advisors love him. He's working part time at the IT help desk to make ends meet. Never had a bit of trouble academically, not even an overdue library book, much less allegations of cheating. And you ….you...not Fleming and not Larkin, you...destroy his life after this fucking excuse for an investigation. The evidence was literally unbelievable. You should be ashamed of yourself, Carroll. Ashamed." Graham was breathing hard through his nose with the emotion of his words. The muscles of his jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth and there was a vein throbbing in his temple.

Graham's words had had the desired effect and Carroll was, in fact, deeply ashamed. "I...I...what do you want me to do?" Carroll managed to say after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not going to tell you what I _want_ you to do. I'm not even going to tell you what I think you _should_ do. I'm simply going to tell you what you are _going_ to do. You are _going_ to leave my office and cancel the rest of your meetings in DC. You are _going_ to fly back to Palo Alto immediately. You are _going_ to meet with the General Counsel of the school in the morning, maybe assemble the Board of Trustees if you think you need to...and you... are... _going_ ...to...fix this." The words came out in a furious snarl and his finger stabbed harshly at the book recording the Bartowski investigation and hearing.

Words couldn't come to Carroll; he felt like his throat was closed. In the face of Graham's fury, Carroll could only bring himself to nod mutely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

AN3: Oh boy, oh boy. I have really been looking forward to writing this chapter. Really, really. Stay tuned. In case you couldn't tell, this conversation will have consequences.

A/N4: I didn't include the Fleming interrogation because he had nothing new to offer us (or Graham) with respect to our understanding Chuck's expulsion from Stanford. However, Graham told Carroll that Fleming is dead. There are four possibilities here. Either the surgeon lied to Team Bartowski about Fleming's prognosis (don't get me started on the HIPAA violation), or the surgeon was just plain wrong about Fleming's prognosis, or Graham lied to Carroll about the fact of Fleming's death, or Graham lied to Carroll about the cause of Fleming's death. Which was it? I do not intend to answer that question. I will let my readers come to a conclusion on their own. I know I have.

A/N5: Happy Easter to my friends who observe. Happy Passover to my friends who observe that. (And to any of my friends who observe both...busy weekend, huh?)


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: Ownership of Chuck. Ok, I said it. Now let's get right to the story, huh?

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Chuck sat at the Nerd Herd desk at the Buy More, manning his post, but thinking about Sarah. He had a happy little smile on his face, which he always wore when thinking about Sarah. He was pulled out of his pleasant revery by the jarring rings of the desk bell. A cute, petite brunette had banged on the bell multiple times. She held her phone in her right hand as if she blamed it for something. Automatically, he thought 'no wedding ring and probably right handed, with her watch on her left wrist.' He was getting better and better at noticing things...at least he hoped he was. He was certainly trying.

"Hi," he said, standing up.

"I keep pressing the button and nothing's happening," she said, frantically while gesturing with her phone.

He smiled at her and said, calmly, "Is it fully charged? Because sometimes this model..."

"My entire life is in this thing...Ok? I've got names, places, dates, times, music, photos, recipes."

"Wow," Chuck said, still with a small smile. "You cook too?"

"What if I lose everything?" she sounded actually scared. "I can't start from scratch. I can't be the person I was..." She turned and walked away from the desk, pacing in her anxiety. "... before this thing came along. I'm freaking out." Chuck agreed that she was, in fact, freaking out.

He followed her away from the desk. Placatingly, he said, "Listen to me,….uh..."

"Lou," she said.

"Lou?" He sounded a little confused. "Really? Cause...I wouldn't have...Oh..." She checked out his nametag and smiled a little to herself. "See, Lou, this is my world," he gestured behind him at the Nerd Herd desk. "This is what I do. And I do it pretty well. Trust me." He smiled at her with what he hoped was his most calming and reassuring smile.

"Ok," she said, handing over her phone. "I know I'm totally spazzing out. I'm sorry. It's just a little overwhelming to even consider..."

"No, no, no," Chuck interrupted her. "Don't go there. Come back. Go to a happy place. Is there something that you think about that quiets the voices that are in your head?" He wiggled his fingers around near his head to indicate her chattering voices.

She took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly. Visibly calming, she said softly, "Turkey..."

'Huh?' thought Chuck, a little startled.

"Muenster cheese...egg bread...grilled..."

"Was that a ...was that a sandwich?" he asked, a little confused, but also a little charmed by her quirky response.

"Yeah. They're my passion," she said.

"It sounds...it sounds pretty delicious."

"I own a deli in the mall and I often think about meats and cheeses," she said, by way of explanation.

"Ah...who doesn't? A good lunch is essential to a good day. My girlfriend works at the Wienerlicious, so I don't miss lunch." Chuck said with a huge smile. Despite his newfound attention to noticing things, he didn't notice the slight droop in her shoulders or the tiny dimming of her smile at the mention of his girlfriend. "Look, I promise you that if you come back tomorrow, your phone will be all fixed up and good to go. Ok?"

"Really?" she asked, brightly.

Before he could answer they were interrupted by Morgan. His little bearded friend said, "Ah, I'm sorry. Excuse me," he said to Chuck. Turning to Lou, he said, "Hi. I'm Morgan, by the way," extending his hand to her.

"Hi, I'm Lou," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Hi, Lou, nice to meet you. Chuck, there's a man over there that wants to see you. Says no one else can help him. He can see you're with a customer, but he says he doesn't mind waiting. I just thought you should know."

Chuck looked up and saw the man. He was maybe in his sixties, a little pudgy, and very grey haired, wearing a suit and tie. He looked pretty innocuous, but Chuck literally gasped from surprise. "No way...what the hell?" he murmured. His look of shock was almost comical. The reaction was so extreme that both Lou and Morgan spun to look at the man, who stood there holding his briefcase and patiently waiting, watching them without much in the way of expression.

Morgan said, "Who is he, Dude?"

Chuck ignored the question. "Uh, Morgan, please do the paperwork for Lou. Get Lou signed up for Nerd Herd service. Phone diagnostic and repair. No deposit. Pick up tomorrow." Moving away from them, he turned back to look at her and said, with a bit of a distracted smile, "I'll take care of it, Lou. It will be good as new. Don't worry. Now excuse me, please."

He left them and walked towards President Dan Carroll of Stanford. Chuck felt he was walking in a dream. 'What the hell is happening?' he thought.

"President Carroll," Chuck said, neutrally, by way of greeting. He did not extend his hand offering to shake hands and neither did President Carroll.

"Good morning, Mr. Bartowski. I'm sorry to disturb you at your place of business. Is there someplace here where you and I could speak privately for a few moments?"

"Certainly. Come with me, please." He led him into the Home Theater Room and closed the door. "What can I do for you?" He was so tempted to ask if the man needed his phone or computer fixed, but that level of overt snark would have been rude.

Chuck was very curious, but not really more than that. A few months ago, Chuck would have been nervous and uncomfortable to be talking to Carroll. At this point, though, he found that he wasn't. His experiences with Sarah and Casey had put things into more perspective for him. Carroll had already done the worst thing he could do to Chuck. There was simply nothing to be nervous about anymore.

"Mr. Bartowski, I will come right to the point. I'm sorry. I'm so desperately and sincerely sorry. To say I made a mistake is to vastly minimize the extent of my negligence and the terrible effect it has had on your life. Frankly, I'm ashamed of what I did to you. I'm going to try to do what I can now, but the place to start is just to simply apologize to you. I'm so, so sorry."

Chuck was deeply shocked. The President of Stanford was flat out apologizing. He would never have imagined it. "How?...Why?..." In his confusion, his voice became a little shaky.

"Director Graham called me into his office a few days ago. He showed me the tape of Larkin and Fleming agreeing to frame you for cheating. Then he shared with me his critique of my investigation and the hearing that followed it... where I ruled against you. His critique was …. thorough and unsparing, as well as entirely accurate and appropriate." Carroll looked very uncomfortable remembering the conversation with Graham. Chuck wondered what that conversation must have been like. "I wanted to give you this apology in writing so that you could hold on to it, but the lawyers wouldn't let me. They worried that you could use it to sue us. So, not in writing, but real nonetheless. I'm sorry, Mr. Bartowski. I'm so, so sorry."

"Um...okay," said Chuck.

Carroll reached into his briefcase and removed a large piece of stiff, heavy paper. As he turned it around towards Chuck he said, "This is for you."

THE LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY

to all whom these Letters shall come greeting

The Trustees and Faculty of the University, by virtue of the authority

vested in them have conferred on

CHARLES IRVING BARTOWSKI

who has satisfactorily pursued the Studies and passed the Examinations

Required therefor the Degree of

BACHELOR OF SCIENCE

in

Electrical Engineering

and

Computer Science

with all the Rights, Privileges, Honors, and Responsibilities thereunto appertaining

Given at Stanford University in the State of California on the Sixth Day of

November in the year Two Thousand and Seven, the Two Hundredth and Thirty-first Year

of the Republic, and the One Hundred and Sixteenth Academic Year of the University.

Conferred with Distinction

It was followed by three signatures, including, in the center of the page, Dan Carroll's own signature. Carroll said, "Congratulations, Mr. Bartowski," and extended his hand.

Chuck's mind had locked up. He shook Carroll's hand automatically, without thought. As he did begin to process events he said, "I don't understand. I don't have the credits..."

"Not true. You do. Your work with the CIA has been a work/study arrangement. You have all the credits you need. Director Graham and I finished up the paperwork yesterday. I flew down here last night to be able to see you this morning. I deliberately wanted to show up unannounced...I wasn't sure you would want to see me if I told you I was coming."

"Oh...so this is real? I mean, it's done? I mean, I really graduated?"

"Yes. You have. You are a graduate of Stanford University, double major with distinction. If you would like to participate in the ceremony...cap and gown...the whole thing, just say so and I will arrange it. But it is not at all necessary. You have graduated. The upcoming ceremony is next spring. No need to decide now, you can let me know any time before then. Perhaps your family would like to see you there and hear your name called. It's up to you, Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck, still in a bit of a daze and processing events, mumbled a thank you.

"One more thing. If you should ever choose to pursue graduate studies you will have a full scholarship at Stanford. I don't expect that that is something you are thinking about right now, but in five or ten years, who knows? Just keep it in the back of your mind."

Chuck said, "Thank you."

"I would also have offered you a job at the University, but given your current employer...," he looked around at the room they were in, "your real employer...I considered that unwise," said Carroll with a small smile and a shrug.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until Chuck decided to ask the question that he'd been pondering for five years. "President Carroll, why didn't you believe me?" asked Chuck.

Carroll sighed heavily and seemed to find something very interesting to look at on the carpet at his feet. "Since I saw the tape of Fleming and Larkin, I've been asking myself the same question over and over again. I was wrong, Mr. Bartowski. I should have believed you. In hindsight it was the most obvious thing in the world to believe you, but at the time...I don't know...I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I was too angry...We had given you a full scholarship, the best opportunity we could provide for you...and to think that you...that anyone in that position...could take what we had given and then cheat...game the system...it made me very angry. Maybe irrationally angry, I don't know. I kept thinking that if you had cheated on Fleming's test you had cheated on all your tests...you had made fools of us all...even those professors who supported you... _especially_ those professors who supported you. By the way, you should know that Professor Pachnanda hasn't spoken to me in five years...not since then, because of what I did to you. I have to apologize to him too...Seems I have a lot of apologizing to do...But I was so angry...it's why your punishment was so severe, expulsion rather than suspension...I'm sorry, Mr. Bartowski...I'm sorry."

They were silent for a few more moments as Chuck digested Carroll's explanation. "Thank you for coming to see me in person, President Carroll. I'm sure this must have been very difficult for you. You could have mailed me the diploma and a bullshit explanation and that would be that, but you didn't. You came all this way and looked me in the eye and apologized to me in person like an honorable man. That took real courage, Sir. I recognize the difficulty you must have had in doing that and I truly appreciate it. I really do. Thank you."

"Thank you for that...I have no hope that you will ever forgive me for what I did to you. Fleming is beyond that now. Larkin, well, Larkin too. We have rescinded Larkin's degree... posthumously, of course. We no longer want him known as a Stanford graduate, for whatever good that will do us. You are a truly extraordinary young man with almost limitless potential and I stole five years of your life away from you. You and I are both going to have to live with that, I'm afraid. I know you won't forgive me, but I do hope that, one day, you will be able to forgive Stanford. As an institution it is much better than the treatment you received at my hands. I hope that one day you will see that and give Stanford another chance."

He stuck out his hand and said, "Good-bye, Mr. Bartowski. Good luck and if there is ever anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask. God knows I owe you more than a few favors."

"Good-bye, President Carroll."

Chuck opened the door to the Home Theater Room and let Carroll leave. Then he stood there for almost a minute staring at the diploma on the coffee table, trying to come to grips with his new status. He felt like he was about to cry and laugh at the same time.

He touched his watch and said, "Sarah, Casey, can you come to the Home Theater Room right away, please? I'm not in danger or anything, but I need to talk to you both." Both of them acknowledged and indicating they were on their way. Chuck picked up the diploma from the table and looked at it as if he expected the letters to fade away.

Predictably, Casey arrived first. He said, "Come on, Moron, I was about to sell a Beastmas...Hey...what is it? Did you flash?" Chuck shook his head, no. Looking hard at the expression on Chuck's face and not understanding it at all, Casey asked, "What is it, Chuck?"

Chuck held up his hand and waited for Sarah, who arrived moments later in her Wienerlicious outfit. "What's the matter?" She looked back and forth between them. Casey shrugged, indicating he didn't know. Slowly, Chuck turned the diploma around so that they could see it.

"President Carroll of Stanford was just here. I'm a college graduate."

"Oh, Chuck," said Sarah, her hand going to her mouth in surprise and excitement.

"How?' asked Casey, equally surprised.

"Graham got to him and showed him the tape of Larkin and Fleming. From the look on his face, it looked like Graham gave him a pretty hard time too," said Chuck. "Together they monkeyed up some work study credits for me from the last couple of months and...and..." The tears that had threatened to spill gave way and Chuck started to cry. "And...and I'm a college graduate."

Sarah launched herself at him and wrapped him in a hug, kissing him and almost crying with happiness herself. "Congratulations, sweetie. I knew it. I knew it. I knew Stanford would regret what they did to you." She pulled back and grinned happily at him, "And with distinction, too. I have a smart boyfriend."

Casey put a hand on Chuck's shoulder and squeezed. "Congratulations, kid. Well done. What's distinction mean?"

"It's honors. Top of the class type stuff. They don't use Latin honors at Stanford. It's like _cum laude_ , except not," explained Chuck laughing. He was grinning moments after he had been crying. "Wait, I have to call Graham. I have to thank him."

Chuck took out his phone and sent a text. Moments later the video screen on the wall of the room activated and there was Graham.

Chuck said, "Director," he showed the diploma. "I...I...Thank you...You...thank you...President Carroll was just here. I know what you did...what you did for me..." Chuck was on the verge of tears again.

Graham said, smiling, "Congratulations. And no thanks are necessary, Chuck. I mean it. Larkin and Fleming screwed you over and Carroll was asleep at the switch. Today you got exactly what you deserve, no more no less. You earned that degree and you earned the honors that go with it. It is my pleasure to see that the fraud that was perpetrated against you has been rectified, Chuck. My real pleasure. Honestly. It's an honor to have you on my team, son."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."

"Sorry, now I have to run. I've got to meet with some Senators on the Hill in an hour. I'll try to call you tonight and tell you about my conversation with Carroll. I think you'll get a kick out of it."

Chuck smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir. I look forward to it."

The screen went black.

Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss. "Congratulations, Chuck."

"Thanks," he said with a wide grin.

Casey stuck out his hand and said, "Congratulations, Bartowski. Well done."

"Thanks, Case," he said, shaking Casey's hand.

Sarah said, "Wait here. I'm going to get Morgan. You have to let your little buddy know." She left the room.

"So, what now, kid?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll celebrate. What does somebody do after graduating from college?"

"Get a job," said Casey.

"Ha. Well, between my cover job and..."

Morgan came in to the room with Sarah. "Is everything ok, Chuck? You looked a little freaked out when you saw the old guy."

"Yeah, little buddy. That old guy was from Stanford. Some new evidence surfaced in the last few days about the charges against me. So..." Chuck turned the diploma around so Morgan could see it.

"Is that real?" asked Morgan.

"Yeah. It's real. I graduated from Stanford," said Chuck. Morgan stood in stunned silence for almost five seconds, just staring at the diploma. But then the reality caught up with his shocked mind.

"YEAH," he shouted, pumping a fist into the air. He jumped up to embrace Chuck in a strong hug. "That's so cool. Oh, man. That's so great. You did it. Those idiots finally saw the light. Oh, man. This is great. Congratulations, Chuck." He turned to look at Casey and Sarah, "Isn't this great?" Morgan was grinning from ear to ear and almost bouncing up and down he was so happy for his friend.

Sarah gave him a big smile and said, "Yeah. It is, Morgan." He disengaged from Chuck and gave Sarah a big hug.

He broke the hug with Sarah and began to move to give Casey a hug. Casey growled, "Don't even think about it."

Stopping in mid-movement, his arms still spread, Morgan stammered, "Right. Right. No hugging. Got it. Got it." Turning back to Chuck, he said, "Wow. I can hardly wait for you to tell Ellie. She's gonna flip."

"Yeah, she is," said Chuck with a big smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ellie and Devon were sitting on the couch in their hospital scrubs, snuggling a little and watching the news on TV, when Chuck and Sarah came in after work. "Hey, you guys. How was your day?" asked Ellie.

"Great, sis. Actually, a little more than great," Chuck said with a huge smile. Sarah just stood there smiling.

"Oh?" asked Ellie

"Don't be shy, bro. If something awesome happened you have to share. Don't tease your sister," said Devon with a smile, while turning off the TV and sitting up.

"Well, it seems some new evidence came to light at Stanford...about the allegations against me five years ago. Stanford...well..." Chuck smiled from ear to ear and turned the diploma around to show them. "They changed their minds. I graduated, Ellie. With distinction. I graduated."

Ellie sat staring at the diploma and then at her brother. She seemed to levitate off the couch without effort and fly across the room to Chuck. She pulled him into a huge bone-crushing hug and let out a squeal that could have been heard blocks away. "OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD."

Devon bellowed, "AWESOME, CHUCK. AWESOME." He hugged Chuck and, for good measure, Sarah too.

Ellie jumped up and landed on the couch and began jumping up and down squealing. She kept repeating, "You did it. You did it." She was clapping her hands and laughing so hard it probably hurt her face. "You're the best, little brother. The best. Aces, Charles. This is just terrific."

Sarah wiped away happy tears.

"Way to go, dude. Great news," said Devon.

Sobering and climbing off the couch after a little while, Ellie said, "So what was it?"

"What was what?" asked Chuck.

"What was the new evidence they found? After five years I would think that's pretty unusual to get new evidence. And it must have been totally exculpatory for them to react the way they did. So, what was it?"

Chuck thought about the ramifications if she knew the truth. None of them were good. And what kind of a lie could he tell her that he could maintain? He finally decided to plead ignorance, "I don't know. I was just so happy to get the news, I never asked."

"Yeah," said Sarah, supporting him. "Doesn't really matter, right? As long as he graduated it's all good news."

"I want to know, though," said Ellie. "I'll contact the school in the morning. They really screwed you over, little brother. I want to know what happened to make them change their mind."

"No. No, don't do that. Don't do that, El," said Chuck. "I'll do it. I'll reach out to them and get an answer. You don't have to."

"Yeah," said Sarah. "We got this. You're busy enough."

She looked at them both for a few moments, then grinned broadly and said, "Ok. No problem. Come on. I'm buying you guys dinner. We're buying you dinner. Come on, Devon. Let's get changed. We're going to go out to dinner to celebrate."

"Thanks, guys. Sounds like fun," said Chuck

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A/N2: I've said many times just how much fun I'm having here writing New Day and I really am. Well, this chapter and the prior chapter were among the most enjoyable yet. I hope you enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. I always thought the portrayal in canon of how he eventually got his degree was sort of anti-climactic (mak89 called it "underwhelming"). He was the victim of a massive fraud and it should have had, in my mind, a massive reversal.


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: Aaannnddddd...I still don't own Chuck.

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Sarah sat in the booth across from Chuck holding his hand and asked, "How many exits?"

"At least two. The front, where we came in, and one more in the back through the kitchen where they access the dumpster in the back alley, but I don't know if there's a basement accessible from the back area," he said.

"Good. Now don't look around. How many waitresses working tonight?"

"I've seen Maria and Kelly. I don't know if any of the others are working yet. It's still early."

"Good. Who's behind the bar?"

"Jackie himself," Chuck answered.

"Still good. Okay..." She looked around the room. "What's the story with the couple at the bar?

"Not romantic. Co-workers. She's complaining about their boss and he's telling her to take a vacation."

"Good job. Now for a harder one. Other than you and me, who's the most dangerous person here?"

"That's really kind of you to include me in that," he said with a self-deprecating smile. She smiled back and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "The guy with the tattoos at the far end of the bar."

"Ahhhhnnnnn," she made a buzzer sound that he had given the wrong answer. "Nope, the older guy at the table over there. Reading a book."

Chuck turned and looked at the man sitting off to the side, his back to the wall. The moment he did, the man looked up from his book and looked directly at Chuck without expression.

Turning back to Sarah, he said, "Uhhh, he saw me looking at him."

"Yeah. He would. Nothing gets past him. He has first class situational awareness. And someone looking directly at him would certainly trigger it. He's probably an ex-cop or something like that. He's on top of everything that happens here. If any bad stuff goes down, you can be sure he's prepared and has a plan. You can see it in his eyes."

They were in O'Malley's Bar and Grill waiting for Ellie and Devon, who had explained that they had to make a stop on the way to dinner. It was a nice, quiet local place that Chuck and Ellie had been visiting for years. It had dark wood, dim lighting, cold beer, decent pub grub, and friendly people. Chuck had introduced Casey and Sarah to it soon after they had begun to work together. It was the same place they had taken Carina the first day she was in town to be briefed by her on the Alahi diamond heist.

"You're really good at this stuff," he said.

"A lot of practice," she replied. "I've been doing this my whole life."

"Even before the CIA?" he asked, a little surprised.

She paused before answering. "Yeah, even before the CIA. Long story."

Chuck was very curious, but knew better than to probe for an explanation. Changing the subject, he said, "Well, I have other things in mind for you later. We can save long stories for another night," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her and lightly stroking the back of her hand.

She smiled and said, "Hey, tonight will be the first time you sleep with your girlfriend as a college graduate. Think it'll be any different? Think you'll...Oh, my God." Sarah looked to the door as Devon and Ellie wrestled their way through with a humongous mylar balloon. CONGRATS GRAD. There as a little mylar mortarboard perched on the mylar G in GRAD. The balloon was brushing the ceiling and was as wide as the entire booth they were sitting in.

Ellie came over with a huge self-satisfied grin. "Congrats, Grad."

Laughing, Chuck buried his head in his hands, "I'm humiliated. I'm a laughingstock."

"Too bad," said Ellie. "That was the whole point."

"You deserve it, bro. It's for you. Here," said Devon, handing the balloon string to Chuck.

"Good thing you didn't give this to Ellie, Devon. She'd float away,"

"Naw," he gave Ellie a big loving smile, showing his awesome white teeth, "cause I'm never letting her go."

Sitting down, she said, "Awww, you're the best." She leaned across the table to kiss him.

Jackie O'Malley, the owner, came over to the table from his spot behind the bar. "Hey, Bartowskis. So, who graduated?" He was a smiling man in his sixties, big and somewhat red-faced. He had once been powerfully built, but was rapidly heading towards fat at this point in his life.

"I did, Jackie," said Chuck.

Jackie shook his hand. "Congratulations, Chuck. We celebrating tonight?"

Ellie said, "We are. Devon and I are taking Chuck and Sarah out for dinner, so if he tries to grab the check you're on my side. Ok?"

"You got it. You and Doctor Woodcomb are my favorite doctors anyway. I'll always be on your side. I may need you one day. If I get a headache, I'm going to you. If I get hemorrhoids, I'm going to him," he said, gesturing at Devon.

"Uhh, Jackie, I'm a cardiac surgeon. Don't really go to the dark side, bro," said Devon, shaking his head with a smile.

"Oh, I know, it's just that my wife always tells me to get my head examined," he pointed to Ellie, "..and that I have no heart, but that I'm a total asshole. So, with that combination, I just figured..."

He didn't finish the thought as his audience was laughing too hard. He shrugged, grinned and said, "Alright, folks. Enjoy dinner and congrats again, Chuck."

A little while later, Maria came over carrying a bottle of chilled champagne and four champagne flutes. "Uhh, Maria, we didn't order that," said Chuck.

"On the house. Jackie's compliments. Congratulations, Chuck," she said.

They all looked to Jackie behind the bar, who smiled and gave a tiny wave. They thanked him.

Once the glasses were poured, they raised them in a toast. Ellie said, "Bachelor of Science from Stanford. Double Major. With Distinction. Congratulations, little brother. I love you and I'm so proud of you every day." They clicked glasses to murmured "Me too" and "Here, here" and "Thank you".

The conversation over dinner among the four of them meandered here and there. At one point, Awesome was telling a funny story about the moving men emptying Mrs. Prommer's apartment, and Ellie gave Chuck a meaningful look. Even Sarah understood the look and the question it was asking.

Chuck just said, "Yeah, El. We talked about it and we're thinking about it."

"Talked about what?" asked Awesome.

"We talked about moving in together. About Sarah and me taking Mrs. Prommer's old apartment together," said Chuck.

"Awesome," he had a huge happy grin. "You lovebirds are joined at the hip, and elsewhere too. You should be together. It's just the best thing you can think of to wake up every morning next to the person you love the most in the whole world."

He leaned across the table to give Ellie a quick kiss as she said, "Awww. You're so sweet."

"Just telling them the truth, babe. These lovebird's need a nest of their own so Chuck's worm can wiggle free," he said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Uhhh," said Ellie, smacking him gently in the shoulder.

"Snake," said Sarah.

"What?" asked Devon.

"Snake. Not worm. Snake," said Sarah, with feigned innocence, but trying hard not to laugh. Her blue eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Awesome grinned, but both Chuck and Ellie groaned.

Chuck said, "Oh, my God," and put his head in his hands.

Ellie said, "Ugh. TMI. This is my brother we're talking about."

Sarah maintained the innocent look, but said with mischief in her voice, "Devon started it." Everyone laughed.

"Well, about living together," said Chuck, trying to change the topic away from his worm/snake. "We haven't decided yet. We talked about it, but we're still in the considering stage."

"Oh, you should just do it. Pull the trigger. Jump into the deep end of the pool," said Awesome with his characteristic enthusiasm.

Sarah said, "It's a big step, though, Devon. We want to make sure we're ready. How long were you guys dating before you started to live together?"

"Exactly, Devon," said Ellie. "It took us a couple of years to make that commitment to live together. No need to rush it. Take your time." She gave Awesome a mock glare.

"I'm just saying...that apartment is pretty nice. It won't stay on the market for long," said Devon, taking a swig of his beer.

"We know. We'll decide soon," said Chuck, looking deep into Sarah's eyes. She smiled back at him and reached out to hold his hand.

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Dinner was over and night had fallen as the two couples were leaving O'Malley's and trying to get the enormous balloon out through the doors of the restaurant. They were wrestling with it and laughing at how ridiculous they must seem to any passersby. Devon said, "Let me get our car. This thing will never fit in the Porsche." He jogged away with the balloon.

Ellie stopped and looked thirty or so yards away, where a man was staggering along next to the parked cars. As they watched, he fell onto the sidewalk and rolled into the gutter. Ellie said, "Chuck, call 911." Ellie was on the move. As sweet, kind and loving as Ellie was, when she was focused on her job she was one of the most impressive professionals Chuck had ever seen. Kneeling down, she spoke to the fallen man in a soft voice, but firm with knowledge and certainty. "Sir, Sir, look at me. Look at me. I'm a doctor. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

From the ground, he looked at her somewhat wild eyed. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and untucked. He was sweaty and seemed panicked. Probably some kind of overdose, but he had an intravenous catheter inserted into his right arm and taped down above the wrist, the kind that hospitals would use to prepare a patient for multiple injections over a period of time. What was that about?

She said, "Sir. Is it alright if I examine you?"

He stared at her for a few moments and nodded, "Bad, bad...bad...pain."

"Where are you in pain?" She took his wrist and examined the IV catheter and with two fingers took his pulse. A small crowd started to gather. Chuck was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher. Ellie said, "Sarah, keep these people back. Where are you in pain, Sir?" The man ignored her. He was sweating profusely and seemed very agitated.

The ambulance must have been loitering nearby, because it arrived almost immediately. After identifying herself to the two EMTs she began to give them the rundown on the patient. Ellie said, "Shallow respiration. Thready pulse. He's got an IV catheter," she said, pointing at the tube coming out of his arm. "So, he's under a doctor's care, but he's got no wristband," she said, referring to the plastic identity band hospitals put on patients. "Somebody will have to check hospitals for discharged patients."

The EMTs had unloaded the stretcher and were taking the man under the arms and knees to move him onto it. "Naloxone? Overdose?" asked one of the EMTs, referring to the opioid antagonist medication which would counteract the effects of a morphine or heroin overdose. Opioid overdoses were increasingly common and the EMTs had come to expect them as the default cause for a poisoning of any kind.

"Your call. I don't know if it's an OD, but if it is, it's probably not an opioid. He seems too wired. But Naloxone won't hurt if you want to try," said Ellie.

Devon had pulled up with the car, the balloon stuffed inside and taking up an absurd amount of space. The juxtaposition of the serious medical emergency with the silliness of the balloon was jarring.

The man pleaded, "Help me, please. Help me," as one of the EMTs put an oxygen mask over his face.

"Just relax. We are doing everything we can," said Ellie as she was helping the EMT's get him into the ambulance. "Devon, follow us in the car."

"Right, babe," he said. Westside Medical was the closest hospital, so that would be the ambulance's destination.

Chuck shouted, "I'm proud of you, Sis." Ellie smiled at Chuck and Sarah as she was climbing into the back of the ambulance with the stranger she now considered her patient.

As he was lifted into the light from the ambulance interior, Chuck got a good look at his face for the first time. He flashed. Mason Whitney. Nuclear expert. Advisor. Sanctuary Project.

Devon followed as the ambulance drove away with Ellie and Mason Whitney. Chuck said to Sarah, "I just flashed on the guy. He's a nuclear expert."

"I wonder if that has anything to do with his condition? You know, radiation poisoning or something," asked Sarah.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. That's a good question. When we get home, I'll check out his file. If it does, maybe there's some way I can notify Ellie. You know, be good for the doctors to know."

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The moment Chuck and Sarah got through the door to his apartment, he headed to his computer and pulled up the Intelligence Community's files on Whitney. His file indicated that radiation poisoning wasn't likely, as Whitney was a strategic theorist and not an actual "hard science" nuclear scientist.

Continuing to look at the file he said, "Oh, shit, Sarah. He's gone missing. He disappeared two days ago with a download of stolen data." When it was obvious that he had gone missing, Federal agents looking for the missing data had searched his home on Bentel Avenue in the Brentwood Park neighborhood of Los Angeles, his office and his car and spoken to his girlfriend, Linda Moreno, but the data he had taken was still missing with him.

"Let's call Graham and tell him we spotted the guy. You can finish reading his file later. It's late there anyway. Maybe we can catch him before he goes to bed. We'll fill in Casey when we get off with Graham."

Moments later they had Graham on speaker phone. It was late enough on the east coast that a video conference was probably not called for. Sarah didn't really need to see Graham in his pajamas again.

"Sorry to call so late, Sir," said Sarah.

"It's ok, Agent Walker. My fault. I promised to call you. I guess you and Chuck really wanted to hear the story about my conversation with Carroll."

"Yes, Sir, but that's not why we called you. Tonight Chuck flashed on a man named Mason Whitney. He collapsed on the street in front of us, here in Burbank. Chuck's sister accompanied him to the hospital in an ambulance. When we got home and Chuck checked the man's file, he discovered that Whitney had gone missing recently. We thought you should know he's not missing any longer. He's at Westside Medical being treated, probably in the emergency room."

"Collapsed? What's his status?"

"Looked serious, but we couldn't really say. We just saw him on the street and as the EMT's were picking him up," said Sarah.

Chuck said, "Ellie didn't say anything one way or the other, Sir, but her voice sounded highly stressed. Just based on that I would say it's pretty serious."

"Did he have anything on him?"

"No bag, Sir, but I don't know what was in his pockets," said Sarah.

"We'll arrange to have him transferred to a CIA medical facility asap. Whitney was working with a think-tank on our nuclear targeting strategies. Operation Sanctuary. The conclusions they reached were consolidated in a top secret report to go to the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor. It is a complete analysis of our nuclear warfighting strategy. Each target discussed. Pros and cons for their selection. Recommendations on the timing of strikes and bomb yields. The whole thing. When he went missing, he had illegally downloaded a copy of the final report. Needless to say, Russia or China would pay a king's ransom for the report he stole, not to mention North Korea, of course. We have to find it."

"You know, Sir, digital files can be configured so that they cannot be downloaded. Perhaps your IT guys could look into that. Just sayin'," said Chuck, rolling his eyes at Sarah.

Graham said, "Yeah. I hear ya, Chuck. Not today's problem, but I hear ya."

"Do we know why he downloaded the info and went into the wind?" asked Sarah.

"No, we don't. Do you think we can question him?"

"I don't know, Sir. He didn't really seem that coherent to us. Maybe he'll stabilize with medical attention, though" said Sarah.

"Well then, I'm hoping he recovers from whatever is wrong with him. We can ask him then if we can't talk to him now," said Graham.

"Any idea what he downloaded the Report to? Disk? Chip? Thumb drive? Be good to know what we are looking for," asked Chuck.

"No, but that info is probably in the file you were looking through before you called me," said Graham.

"Well, as I said, Sir, he didn't have a bag with him. Want us to go to the hospital and go through his clothes?" asked Sarah.

"Naw. No need. I'll send a full team to do that and to watch him until we can move him. Even with Agent Casey around you don't have the manpower to run a 24/7 overwatch detail. I'll fill in General Beckman. Get some sleep. Starting in the morning, see if you can retrace his steps. Figure out where's he's been. That might help us put our hands on the missing Sanctuary Report if it's not in his clothes. Oh, and congratulations again, Chuck."

"Thank you, Sir," said Chuck. They broke the connection.

"Well, glad we notified him," said Sarah.

"Yeah. But I just have to ask, does this country hire any decent counter-intelligence folks? I mean, seriously. It's like every other bad guy we face is home grown and comes from the top-secret establishment. Zarnow, Mahnovski, Mead, Fleming, now Whitney. What's with these people?"

"Welcome to my life," said Sarah with a sigh. They contacted Casey and filled him in on the evening's events.

"Now, come over here," Sarah said while unbuttoning her blouse. "I didn't have a chance to buy you a graduation present, so I'll just have to improvise." Soon, she wore nothing but a smile. "Congratulations, sweetie," she said.

"Best day ever," said Chuck.

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A/N2: So, in canon, Whitney stole the country's nuclear codes. "A skeleton key to our nuclear facilities" Sarah called it. What?! What the heck are nuclear codes? I couldn't even fake it here. I got nothing. So, I changed it. The way I figure it, "nuclear codes" are just two random words that sound really cool together, like "crimson steel." I didn't put that in the story either.

A/N3: I'm done begging for reviews. If you want to review, please do so. If you don't...oh, who am I kidding?...please review. I'm going to be away from my computer for the next few days and I'll try to respond to any of your who review or reach out, but it may take a while, so please be patient. Oh, and Tigertod, if you open yourself up to receiving PM's I'd love to chat with you about your ideas.


	43. Chapter 43

A/N: We all hold Chuck in our hearts, but that does not equate to ownership.

A/N2: Part of the fun of writing these stories for me is to be detailed and accurate in my descriptions of what our friends are up to so as to add a tiny bit of realism to the story. In this case, though, that's more of a challenge for me. I'm not a medical professional and I don't hang around in hospitals to pick up the lingo. I don't even watch the medical shows on TV. Therefore, please forgive me any mistakes I make in describing medical conditions, technology or procedures. Some basic science and common sense can get us a long way, but if any of you out there are toxicologists you will no doubt take issue with what I will be doing here. The only thing I can promise is that it's going to be more realistic than canon. Low bar.

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Chuck was up early the next morning and spent a fruitless hour trying to get a handle on Whitney's actions before they had encountered him last night in front of O'Malley's. Whitney had been driven to the area in a late model sedan, but the license plate had been stolen and didn't match the car it was mounted on. Electronically, Chuck alerted the LAPD to watch for it, but wasn't optimistic that the alert would lead anywhere. Traffic cams also gave him only a vague outline of a man driving Whitney, but no more than that.

Meanwhile, Sarah was in touch with Agent Liam Fitzpatrick, the big redheaded agent known as "Fitz". At Graham's direction, Fitz was running the security detail on Whitney at Westside and had arrived at the hospital last night. Fitz told Sarah that Whitney was still alive, but it was touch and go and the doctors, including a certain Dr. Bartowski, were quietly pessimistic. He was breathing with the assistance of a ventilator and had slipped into a coma. There was no way he was stable enough to be moved to a CIA facility at this time.

The medical team had concluded that he had been poisoned. Rather than flush the IV catheter in Whitney's arm and reuse it, they had removed it (replacing it with one of their own) and run an analysis of the substance inside the tube, the last chemicals injected into Whitney's bloodstream in that manner.

What they found was sodium thiopental, commonly known as sodium pentothal, or, more accurately, a dangerous derivative of that drug. Whatever variety had been used on Whitney was proving toxic. In normal doses, the common version was not a dangerous drug, routinely being used as an anesthetic. Although why someone had been injecting Whitney with an anesthetic was not readily apparent to the medical team. Overnight, they had attempted hemodialysis, running Whitney's blood through a machine to scrub it clean, but that procedure had proven useless.

Upon physical examination, the doctors had also found a listening device planted on Whitney which they turned over to Fitz and his team. It proved that Whitney had been under surveillance by someone. The working assumption by the security team was that the person on the other end of the bug was looking for the Sanctuary Report. The bug's battery had died by the time it got to Fitz. As sodium pentothal was also sometimes used as a so-called truth serum, Fitz and his men were working off the assumption that he had been injected to get him to reveal the location of the Report. That was not an assumption they shared with the Whitney's doctors, who had not been made aware of the missing Report.

In addition to looking out for Whitney (and preventing him from fleeing again, had he been able to do so), Fitz's team was also looking for the Sanctuary Report themselves, which had been downloaded by Whitney into a computer chip. Unfortunately, someone in the emergency room the night before had carelessly thrown away Whitney's clothing before it could be searched. An agent was going through the emergency room trash looking for it, but as it was medical waste, that was neither a pleasant nor easy process. So far, no joy.

Chuck, Casey and Sarah spent their breakfast meeting together in Chuck's apartment working through all the information coming to them about Whitney and the missing Sanctuary Report. For the moment, it seemed that all they could do was wait until the LAPD found the car he had been driven in or he recovered from the poisoning. If he recovered from the poisoning.

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As Chuck arrived at the Buy More later that morning, Morgan approached him in a high state of excitement. "Did you fix Lou's phone? It is good?"

"And a good morning to you too, Morg," said Chuck pleasantly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good morning. Did you sleep well? What am I saying? You're sleeping with the hottest girl I've ever seen. Of course, you slept well...unless you didn't sleep at all. Oh, wow. But never mind about that. Did you fix Lou's phone?"

Chuck had finished the phone repair before leaving work the night before. "Yup. All fixed up."

Morgan hovered near him, "So it works? You fixed it?"

"Yeah, Morg, it's good to go. Could you do me a favor and call her? Tell her her phone is ready to be picked up?" Chuck asked, knowing that is exactly what his friend wanted to do anyway.

"That's just what I'm going to do. I'm going to call her. We had a great conversation after you left me with her yesterday...before you graduated from Stanford. Lou and I, we really clicked. You know, she gave me her number," said Morgan.

"Of course she did, buddy. You took that information down for the Nerd Herd forms ..so I could fix her phone," said Chuck, patiently but with amusement.

"Yeah, but it was more than that. I think she really wanted me to have her number, you know? I think she's into me. Did you see her hair? It looks like licorice. All night all I kept thinking about was how much I'd like to chew on it," he said.

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Chuck, surprised.

"Oh, like you don't know. You have great hair to chew on. I'll bet Sarah's hair is great for chewing. It would be vanilla...maybe lemon."

"You'd like to chew on Lou's hair? I mean...ok...isn't that … I don't know...kind of yucky? You know, chewing on hair?"

"No, Dude."

"Are you really hungry or something?"

"No. Of course not. That's got nothing to do with it," said Morgan.

"Lou's hair isn't even black, like licorice. It's more brownish."

"Doesn't matter. It would be delicious," insisted Morgan. Smiling, Chuck just shook his head at his best friend's oddity. "I'm going to call her" said Morgan, as he rushed off to call Lou and tell her about her repaired phone.

Chuck took his place at the Nerd Herd desk and began to re-read Whitney's file.

Lou came in early, so she'd be back before the lunchtime rush at her store. She was carrying a brown paper bag as she came through the doors to the store. Morgan met her there with a huge smile and walked her over to the Nerd Herd desk, chattering a mile a minute. As they approached, though, there came the bellowing roar of Big Mike. "GRIMES."

Morgan said to Lou, "I'll be right back, Lou. You are in good hands with my buddy Chuck. I'll be right back." Morgan hurried away to attend to whatever Big Mike had on his mind.

"Hey," said Chuck with a smile. Lou gave him a little wave.

"Okay. Just give me the verdict, Chuck. I can take it," she said, as if braced for a disaster.

"You sure you want to hear?" he asked with a little smile.

"If you're teasing me, please stop. If you're not teasing me, don't lie to me," she said.

He held up her repaired phone and said, "Good as new-ish," he said.

Taking her phone back from Chuck, she said, "I don't believe you."

"You know, you can learn a lot about a person from their cell phone, by the way. For example, I noticed you listed your Nana under 'A Nana'."

Lou said, "Thank you, Chuck," and reached out to hug him. In mid hug, Sarah arrived next to him. He said, "Hi," and leaned over to give her a little kiss hello as Lou let him go.

"Hi," Sarah responded with a smile.

"Lou, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend Sarah. Sarah, this is Lou. She's your competition," said Chuck with a goofy smile.

Smiling with a raised questioning eyebrow, while shaking Lou's hand, Sarah said, "Oh?"

"Yeah, for the lunch business," said Chuck. "If you're hungry at lunchtime you can get a sandwich from Lou's Gourmet Italian Deli or a deep-fried corn dog from the Wienerlicious. Can't do both. Not the same day anyway. You'd get fat."

Sarah laughed and said, "Oh, you're that Lou. From the deli. Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure," Lou said.

"I go to your deli all the time. The roasted veggie wrap is my favorite. How do you do that with the eggplant? It's so good."

Lou grinned and said, "Ginger. That's the secret ingredient. Oh, and the olive oil...can you keep a secret too?"

"Sure," said Sarah.

"I get special olive oil from Italy. I have to have it smuggled past Customs. It's to die for," she said.

"Oh, it is so good," said Sarah. "Totally worth it."

"Why is your love for our veggie wrap secret?" asked Lou.

"Well, I can't very well hang out there in my stupid Wienerlicious outfit, now can I? Frequent the competition? I have to hide it. Like a guilty pleasure." They both laughed.

Morgan arrived back and said, "Hi, everybody. All good? Phone ok?"

"It is. Your buddy fixed it up, just like you promised he would. You guys were so helpful. So, Morgan, I brought you this." She handed him a brown paper bag.

He shook it and said, "Sandwich?"

"Yup. Turkey and muenster on grilled egg bread. I call it the Morgan."

"Oh my God. I have a sandwich named after me. I'm famous. And, I get to eat the Morgan for lunch. This is just the coolest thing ever. Thank you so much, Lou. You're the best."

"You know," said Lou to Morgan, "you should really come by the shop and try the Morgan fresh." Somehow, she made an invitation to eat a sandwich sound sexy.

"You know I will," he said. Lou smiled sweetly at Morgan. She said good-bye to Chuck and Sarah and left the Buy More.

"Oh, my God. Did you see that? She's totally into me."

Sarah said, laughing, "For once, I think you're absolutely right, Morgan. I think she likes you."

"You do? Really? Oh my God, this is great." He paused, suddenly nervous. "Cause you guys are a couple and I'm a third wheel. So ...but what do I do now? If you're right, that means I have to...I have to..."

"You have to ask her out, buddy. Ask her on a date," said Chuck.

"But I don't know how to do that. What do I say? Sarah, you have to help me. What should I say to her? What do gorgeous women find charming? You know...like a really good pick up line?"

"Just relax, Morgan. Forget pick-up lines, they never work. And anyway, she already likes you. I know everybody says it, but just be yourself.." she told him.

"No, no, no. That's a terrible idea. Have you met me? Being myself is the worst idea ever. I have to be somebody else. Anybody else. Anybody who isn't me."

"Think about it, Morg. She seems to like you...you...not anybody else. Just take a deep breath and ask her if she wants to get coffee with you sometime. Or dinner. Or a movie, or something. This is like a zen thing. The harder you try, the less well you do," said Chuck.

"Chuck is right," said Sarah. "Just relax."

"I can't face this...Double date, that's the answer. Will you guys come with me? Can we do a double date? I haven't been on a date in...well, I don't remember the last one," said Morgan.

"Well, there was that girl you hooked up with at the Star Wars convention. The one dressed like a Wookie," said Chuck.

"No. She was an actual Wookie," said Morgan seriously.

Chuck's phone rang and, seeing it was Awesome, he answered it.

"Hey, Devon. What's up?"

"Chuck, you need to come to the hospital right away. Something has happened to Ellie. The guy last night was poisoned. The poison that got to him...somehow it got to Ellie too."

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Sarah and Chuck arrived first. Casey's Crown Vic couldn't keep up with the Porsche. 'Hell,' thought Chuck, 'the way she drove just now an F-111 wouldn't have been able to keep up with her.. at least until take off.'

Chuck and Sarah ran through the hospital to Ellie's room. On the way, Chuck bumped into doctors, nurses, a janitor and several family members, but he managed to avoid hitting any patients.

Ellie was in a hospital gown and lying in the bed in a private room. Tubes came out of her arm and monitors displayed all manner of information. Devon was sitting next to her in the visitor's chair, holding her hand. She was talking, sort of babbling, with a bit of a half-smile "If everything is awesome, then it just means mediocre. But I love you so much, Devon...I love you...Chuck is here... Hi, Chuck...you need a haircut, your hair is making funny animal shapes. Flamingos...White...Pink...Tall like you...You came from work. You should tuck in your shirt, you know. Quiet...But you're a big boy now, you can figure that stuff out on your own. You're a big boy and you're with a big girl. Hi, Sarah. I love you too, girlfriend. I have diminished cortical function. You know that right? Supermodel beautiful and college professor smart. Hot dogs are bullshit. You're the one. You know that, right? The one for my brother... Porsche. You two... are the best. I know things...Things I'm not supposed to know...I know..." A nurse came into the room and Ellie said to her, "Maggie, I lied to you. I don't like your hair that way. You should cut it like you used to. You look too old." A janitor could be seen through the glass window to the corridor. He was slowly polishing the floor with a buffing machine. "Janitor...Fitzpatrick, nice man, big man, ..Oh, boy..I don't even know what it is...stop asking... Everyone is looking at me. I don't like that. Don't look at me...Where's John? Chuck, you and Sarah need John. He's so sweet. Semper Fi. Sweet. Hmmmm...Words taste like peaches." Her attention seemed to drift for a few moments. Without a lot of prior warning, she passed out as if a switch had been flipped.

"Oh, Babe," groaned Devon.

Chuck couldn't remember ever being more upset or scared. This was Ellie after all. He held Devon's arm. "Devon, is she going to be ok?"

Devon took a deep breath and spoke calmly and seriously, in a quiet voice so as not to disturb her. "I don't know, Chuck. It depends on the dosage she got. We don't even know how it happened, much less the dose. I wish we could find Whitney's clothes. I guess something he had on him poisoned her. A needle prick or something like that, something that she didn't notice. There's no other explanation. Try not to worry. They're doing everything they can for her. This is our place. The doctors and staff here would do anything for her. They consider her family."

"Are you worried?" Chuck asked him.

"Hell, yeah," said Devon, nodding seriously.

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Casey watched the family through the glass from the corridor. Goddammit.

Fitz came up next to him, "What are you doing here, Major? I heard that your team ID'ed Whitney last night, but I would have figured he was our problem now."

"Complications, Fitz." His dread for Ellie was like a heavy cold stone sitting in his guts. Casey watched through the window as Devon and Chuck tried to comfort each other with Sarah's help, and he made a decision. "Doctor Bartowski is Carmichael's sister."

Fitz looked into the room at the unconscious doctor lying on her own hospital bed and said quietly, but with feeling, "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah," said Casey.

"Then you need to know this, Major. I think Dr. Bartowski was deliberately poisoned. I think whoever is doing this is trying to use the sodium pentothal as a truth serum..."

"Idiot," said Casey.

"Yeah, I know."

"Why do you say deliberately, Fitz?" asked Casey.

"Because the ambulance that brought in Whitney never went off duty last night. It's missing, together with the two EMTs that picked up Whitney and Dr. Bartowski. LAPD is on high alert trying to find it. Cops work with the EMTs all the time. They're treating it like an attack on their own family. We figure that the sonofabitch is looking for the Sanctuary Report and dosing anyone who had contact with Whitney."

Casey was silent for a few moments and said, "That's pretty insane. The rest of the emergency room personnel..."

"Already taken care of it, Major. They are all covered. LAPD has got it. They have the local manpower. Nobody else will get poisoned by this bastard."

"Good work, Fitz," said Casey wearily.

Looking at Ellie and her family through the window Fitz said, "Shit. This really sucks."

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A/N3: Ok. If this were real life they would have the entire hospital on a lock down and everyone would be wandering around in haz mat suits with ventilators on their backs until they found the source of the poison.

A/N4: From what I've read about sodium pentothal, this is the way it really works. At low doses it makes the subject sort of babble. Their higher brain functions are impaired so they can't pre-plan or stick to lies, but that doesn't mean they are necessarily going to tell the truth or talk about what you want them to. At higher doses the subject is rendered unconscious (hence its use as an anaesthetic).

A/N5: So, it never made any sense in canon that the bad guy focused 100% on Ellie. He happened to be right, but it was totally illogical. Even if he knew that Whitney had the chip on his person when he collapsed, there was no reason to expect that he gave it to Ellie. The guy was putting all his eggs in the Ellie basket. My bad guy doesn't make that mistake.

A/N6: Hey, crazzywally. I don't know how to do the PM's from my phone either. But, if you go onto the site from your computer instead of your phone, you should be all set.


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: I know, I know...ownership of Chuck. It gets to you, huh?

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Riordan Payne was a businessman. Like the majority of businessmen, he sold things. In his case, it was things that he could acquire that no one else could. Hard to find things. Things that other people didn't want found and sold, making them that much more valuable, of course. That's what had made him successful, the ability to get to those things and dispose of them on the market. He had managed to be profitable in this unusual line of work for almost a decade, and was proud of his ingenuity, skill and planning. What other people saw as arrogance, he knew was merely justified self confidence in his own considerable abilities.

Unfortunately, his current job was heading in a very bad direction, through no fault of his own, of course. It had started out well enough. Payne moved a wet mop around somewhat aimlessly on the already clean floor as he thought back to the beginnings of this endeavor.

Adelbert de Smet, commonly referred to as the Belgian, had contacted him and requested a copy of the Sanctuary Report. The Belgian was prepared to pay him Twenty-five Million Dollars for said copy. This was not the most lucrative commission Payne had undertaken, but it was certainly large enough to garner a tremendous effort. It was even more agreeable, as the job would be accomplished here in Los Angeles, his normal base of operations.

First, he had looked into the Sanctuary Project and the members of the committee performing the analysis for the think tank. There were several decent candidates, but he selected Mason Whitney. In particular, Whitney's girlfriend, Linda Moreno was a weak link. She had, in a past history of revolutionary political fervor and under a different name, participated in a bank robbery that resulted in the death of a bank guard. In a simple discussion with her, once she had finished pathetically crying and begging, Payne had explained the wisdom of cooperating with him to obtain the Sanctuary Report from her boyfriend. The alternative was to attempt to explain to the FBI why she should be allowed to continue to live as a free woman in Los Angeles. Maybe it was a trifle cold-hearted, but Payne had to admit that he found the woman's predicament a little humorous.

Payne had no idea what she had told Whitney to get him to download the Report onto a chip and he didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that it had worked and the final Report was now located outside the hard drives of the well-protected think tank where Whitney had worked. Easier pickings.

Unfortunately, that's when the job ran into its first speed bump. Whitney had smelled something wrong with the situation and hidden the chip. Then he'd disappeared and gone on the run. Even Moreno didn't know where he was for a time. When they realized what he had done, the Feds began to look for him too. Payne was luckier than they were and caught him trying to contact Moreno (who was, of course, lying to them about her boyfriend).

Payne put away the mop and began to empty trash cans into the large pail on the cart he was rolling behind him.

Once Payne had Whitney in his control, he intended to question him and find the location of the hidden Report. That's when the second big problem with the job occurred. A representative of the Volkoff group had sold him a derivative of sodium pentothal called SP-117. It was supposedly the ideal truth serum, almost mythical in its effect, developed by the Biological Weapons Department 12 of the Russian FSB. The subject would lose all ability to lie and would blurt out truthful answers to any questions put to him. Payne had stockpiled some antidote as well, of course. When using dangerous substances like this one, it was simply good planning to have an adequate supply of antidote on hand.

Payne was mildly furious at the Volkoff man (and intended to have some very stern words with him just as soon as this job ended), as the substance worked no better than ordinary sodium pentothal. No, actually, it was worse than sodium pentothal. Much worse, as the subjects tended to die. One problem with the drug was that it could be delivered through three different mediums – intravenous, oral, or by inhalation. Normally, that would be a positive attribute, especially with the kind of job that Payne had. It might be useful to administer it to people without them being aware of having been drugged, so oral administration or through inhalation might be ideal. In this case, though, judging the correct dosage was proving almost impossible. Particularly the dosage of the inhaled drug version, which was not given in any typical controlled manner. Payne had been given a specific dosage through the IV injection and, while he was deteriorating and, in all likelihood, would soon die, at least he had been relatively coherent for a time.

Payne had drugged Whitney and followed his directions to the pick-up spot where he'd hidden the Report. Payne had stayed back during the pick-up, so as not to be recorded on any cameras, but was listening as Whitney retrieved the chip. "Here..here...my Report...Still here." So, Payne was momentarily satisfied. He had finally arranged for the chip with the Report to be in Whitney's possession with himself just a few steps away, only to have the next problem develop immediately thereafter. The good Samaritan bystanders got involved and the retrieval had totally gone to shit. And, to make the situation even worse, the woman who had tended to him on the street was also a doctor at the same hospital he was taken to by the ambulance. That made Payne's own position much more problematic. He couldn't claim to be a relative or friend of Whitney in case she had seen him in the crowd on the street.

He dealt with the ambulance and the EMTs, but that did not produce the chip. At that point, he knew the Sanctuary Report was somewhere in the hospital or with one of the people from the hospital, so he had no choice but to infiltrate the hospital. Stealing a janitor's uniform and identity had been easy. He had killed the regular janitor, being careful not to get blood on his uniform, and left his body in a dumpster. He was sure no one would miss him.

In his assumed role cleaning the floors nobody was paying him the slightest bit of attention, which was exactly how he liked it. He aspired to be one of those little invisible gray men. As a merchant in information, his stock in trade depended on him getting facts other people didn't have and wanted. The best way to do that was to be inconspicuous. As he was physically small and adept at adopting an unassuming character, he most often managed.

On very rare occasions he found himself resorting to violence in his work, which tended to bring unwanted attention. He derived no pleasure from that violence, but was in no way deterred by it either. It was the attention violence generated that bothered him. On this particular job, so far, he had had to drug and probably kill four people for information, which didn't even count the janitor. The only part of that bloodletting that bothered him personally was the uselessness of it. Neither of the EMTs had any useful information. Neither did the woman doctor who had ridden in the ambulance with Whitney. Their deaths would be just an unfortunate inconvenience, but would make the balance of the job that much harder. The LAPD was sure to be on the case at this point. The Feds were already on station, led by a huge redheaded agent. Luckily, he had gotten everything he could from Whitney before those men arrived.

He had spent hours cleaning the floors and trash cans and still was no closer to the Report. He hated to disappoint the Belgian, who might have a need for future commissions. There wasn't a tight deadline as the information was not particularly time-sensitive, but he was a commission based business man. When he finished this job, he could be on to the next. If he didn't finish this job, he didn't get paid for his efforts no matter how hard he tried or how close he had come. While that happened sometimes, he was successful enough that it was rare. The very prospect was irritating to him.

He fervently hoped that it would not happen here, but he had to admit to himself that he was almost out of leads to the chip. Whitney's clothes didn't have the chip. The ambulance he had ransacked didn't have the chip and the EMTs didn't know where it was. The woman doctor didn't have it and similarly didn't know where it was. He had checked the emergency room itself and Whitney's hospital room. Nothing. The LAPD was now involved and protecting the other members of the emergency room staff from his questioning, so they were almost impossible to access. If any of them had had the chip, though, the redhead would have found it and left already.

The only real lead he had left to try was the locker containing the woman doctor's street clothes, in case Whitney had dropped it into one of her pockets without her knowledge. She had changed into scrubs when she arrived at the hospital with Whitney, so those street clothes would be kept in her locker. But the women's locker room was difficult for him to access, even in his janitor guise. He would likely have to wait until she died and her boyfriend emptied it, or maybe try it in the middle of the night when there were no women inside changing. He still needed her locker number, but there would be a registry of assigned lockers somewhere with the hospital administration. He was patiently taking the steps necessary to access that registry. While he did so, though, he continued to listen through an earwig to the feed from the listening device he had planted in the woman doctor's room, in case the boyfriend mentioned her locker number or declared an intention to visit the locker room to collect something for his unconscious girlfriend.

Around lunchtime the hospital came alive with news. The LAPD had found the missing ambulance abandoned in an area of warehouses and industrial buildings. Both of the EMTs were dead, poisoned with the same sodium pentothal derivative as Whitney and the woman doctor.

Meanwhile, in the doctor's hospital room, he heard the boyfriend cajoled into leaving her side to have some coffee in the cafeteria, leaving only two other visitors with the unconscious doctor. He listened to the brother chatting with his girlfriend, both of them worried about his sister.

They were an odd couple, those two. The brother, an employee of the Buy More Nerd Herd from his outfit (including a pocket protector... seriously, who uses a pocket protector?) and name tag, looked like a nerd from right out of central casting. But Payne prided himself on his ability to read people and there was something else about the brother that he noticed. Something in the way his eyes moved. Payne could tell that the brother was a very intelligent man. Payne wondered idly how he had ended up in a dead-end job at the Buy More. He supposed the man to be a world-class underachiever.

The girlfriend was also puzzling. She looked just like a Russian prostitute he had hired a few times in Tel Aviv. Smoking hot gorgeous, this woman was patently in love with the Nerd Herd brother, but, unlike the girl in Tel Aviv, she was also obviously intelligent. He wondered what she saw in him. With looks like that and a good mind, she could have any man she chose. Women were inexplicable to him.

There was a third person lingering near the hospital room. A big guy in a Buy More green shirt. He didn't talk much, but was a strong supportive silent type. A friend to both apparently. All three looked and sounded sick with worry about the dying doctor.

Just then he heard the woman say to her boyfriend, "Hey, what's this?"

"Lemme see," he replied. Moments later he said, "It's a computer chip. Where did you find it?"

"It was over there. Under that stuff."

"Weird. Could it have fallen out of one of these machines?" There was a pause and some movement, then the brother said, "No. Those don't look open or anything."

"So, what do you think it does?" the girlfriend asked.

"I dunno. Wait here. I'll take it to the car. I have my bag there. I can check it out with the equipment I have in the bag."

"Ok, sweetie. Hurry back. I'll keep Ellie company." There was the smacking sound of a quick kiss and then silence.

'Yes!' thought Payne. 'Here we go.' Taking his messenger bag with his gear from the janitor's cart, he headed immediately towards the parking lot, leaving the abandoned cart in a hallway. He didn't know how the chip had made it into her room, but that didn't matter. Finally, he was going to get it for the Belgian. He knew he'd have to take it from the Nerd Herd brother, but that would be easy. He wasn't exactly cocky, but he was certainly confident that the nerd would pose no great challenge.

He caught sight of the brother leaving through the doors to the parking lot side of the building and followed as the man made his way through the cars, coming to a stop in front of a Porsche. He unlocked the car and reached inside for a messenger bag. He seemed to be doing something with the contents of the messenger bag when Payne interrupted him.

"Excuse me," he said.

The brother turned to face him, the messenger bag clutched across his chest defensively. For some strange reason, the man didn't look surprised or scared to see that he was being held at gunpoint. Payne noted that oddity with just a tiny bit of apprehension.

Payne aimed his compact Glock 43, extended with a silencer, at the brother and said, "Give me the computer chip you found in your sister's room. Your sister is dying of poison. I have an ampule of the antidote here in my bag. It's not too late for her. You're a smart guy..." he glanced quickly at the name tag the brother wore. "...Chuck Bartowski. Do the trade. If you don't, I will just shoot you and take the chip. Then both you and your sister, the pretty doctor, will die. It's a good deal I'm offering."

To his shock, behind him he heard the girlfriend's voice, as cold as the wind over the Arctic ice, say, "I have a better idea. I shoot you and take the antidote from your body as it cools."

Payne had not gotten to where he was without a lot of nerve. He knew that the best way to survive an ambush was to act decisively and with immediate violence. He shot Bartowski in the center of the chest through his messenger bag. The man flew backwards into the Porsche with a loud grunt of pain. Payne lunged for the dying man and twisted his body around to use as a human shield. He moved very quickly and the girlfriend's shot at him missed, allowing him a moment to also shoot her in the chest. Losing the gun in her hand from the impact of the round, she flew backwards to land on the blacktop next to the parked cars.

The man in his grasp, with a bullet in his chest, was not reacting as expected. They were scuffling with each other. Bartowski slammed the edge of the messenger bag down onto Payne's wrist, knocking the Glock to the ground. Then his sneakered foot kicked it under the car. Clearly, the man had not been shot.

As he watched, the girlfriend began to get off the ground. 'She must be wearing a vest too,' he thought. Goddammit, these two were Feds and were dangerous. Payne was chagrined at himself for underestimating them. Time to leave. He pushed away from Bartowski, shoving him towards the woman agent and began to run across the parking lot. He knew he was very quick and was sure he could get away from these two. He was almost out of the lot and into the street when he looked behind him and saw Bartowski chasing him.

He ran across the street to the large public park across the way and redoubled his speed. He was fast and he kept himself in good shape, but his legs were a great deal shorter than the man pursuing him and that made a big difference. The tall brother/agent seemed to also be in pretty good shape and was running fast with an easy lope. A glance over his shoulder showed that Bartowski was steadily gaining on him. He decided to stand and fight. He had earned a black belt in karate and was confident that he would easily take down the taller man in hand-to-hand combat.

Before he had the opportunity to pick a place to fight and stop his sprint, he was shoved hard from behind. He overbalanced and fell. In midfall, he turned it into a somersault across the grass and rolled to a stop near the far end of the park. Coming easily to his feet, he spun to attack the brother to incapacitate him. He intended to take him down quickly and get far away from the hospital before he was swarmed by Federal agents. This man and woman team had proven to be tough customers. Running away from them was a prudent course of action given all the circumstances.

He never got the chance to land a punch on Bartowski. The girlfriend, who had apparently been running after them both, literally flew through the air from behind the brother to hit Payne with a classic Tae Kwon Do flying kick. The movement of the hard edge of her right striking foot combining with her forward momentum hit him hard in the side. He both felt and heard at least two ribs crack. He flew backwards into the city street on the far side of the park.

This situation was going from bad to worse. Again, he turned the fall into a roll, this time a back roll, his own messenger bag flapping against his side. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he came to his feet with fists clenched to attack the girlfriend. To his dismay, she clearly knew how to fight. Her stance was balanced and ready and she had a look of fierce determination and focus. As beautiful as she was, she was going to be a tough opponent, a beautiful badass. Bartowski didn't square off the join the fight, seeming content to let his woman handle it. Payne had a flash of admiration. 'I knew he was smart.'

Suddenly, Payne looked up and to his right at the roaring sound of a powerful engine and his last thought before the car hit him was, 'Crown Vic.'

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A/N2: "L. Moreno" was the name of the emergency contact listed on the medical card that Chuck took out of Whitney's wallet in canon. If Moreno's real name is Lester or Lou, well, then it's not Linda.

A/N3: SP-117 is real. Or, to state that more accurately, supposedly real. There has been no independent confirmation of its existence from western intelligence agencies that I have found reported, but Russian sources have claimed that it not only exists but has almost magical properties. Odorless, colorless, and tasteless, with no immediate side effects, it supposedly results in not only truthful answers to the questions asked, but also removes the memory of the interrogation altogether. Alexander Litvinenko (the former FSB spy murdered by his former colleagues in London) claimed that the FSB used SP-117 on a Russian presidential candidate during the candidate's kidnapping. It is understandable that Payne would be angry at the Volkoff organization for selling him merely a lethal version of sodium pentothal instead of what he had been promised and had paid for.

A/N4: With the possible exception of SP-117, there is no such thing as truth serum. The closest real-life substance to the various fictional truth serums seems to be ethanol. It has side effects, though. For example, it leads people like me to believe that we can dance. _In vino veritas_ indeed.


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: I have to say it. Ready? Wait for it. I don't own Chuck. There, I said it.

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Casey thought Chuck's idea was a good one. Set the trap for the poisoner outside the hospital, so as to keep the man (or woman, he guessed) away from the other patients and medical staff in case things turned south. Team B decided to set and spring the trap themselves without the assistance of Fitz's guys. That would leave Fitz's men to protect Whitney and Ellie. Fitz agreed. Whitney was almost gone and was expected to pass any minute, but Ellie was still strong, thank God. They chose not to pull Fitz's security off the patients in case the attempt to trap the poisoner turned out to be a waste of time. What if the poisoner had nothing to do with the bug? What if he (or she) wasn't listening or was far away? What if both the poisoning and the bug were unrelated to the chip with the Sanctuary Report? All possible, but judged unlikely.

Casey watched from a distance as Chuck made his way to the Porsche with Sarah covering discreetly behind from a distance. He saw the janitor also following and was instantly sure that was their man. Janitor was a great cover. Menial service people often went unnoticed. It was why he so often found himself under cover as a bartender or waiter, for example. Janitor fell into the same category.

Casey watched the confrontation between Chuck and the janitor and saw Sarah draw on the sonofabitch. He was shocked to see the man start firing his weapon. 'What a reckless bastard,' he thought. His momentary alarm was eased when he saw that both Chuck and Sarah were ok and began to give chase to the man in the janitor's uniform.

That was Casey's cue. The Crown Vic was already idling and he drove out of the parking lot, running parallel to the three figures sprinting through the park. As he did so, Fitz contacted him, "Major, Whitney just died. You need some of my men out there with you?"

"No. Stay put. We flushed somebody out. He's trying to rabbit, but Carmichael and Walker are chasing on foot and I'm in a vehicle. We'll have him in a minute."

"Roger that, Major."

Casey saw Chuck knock the man down and Sarah knock him down a second time. This murderer had killed three people and fired on both his partners so far today. Subtlety be damned. Casey just straight-up ran into him with the car. The man's body impacted on the front hood and flew a few feet to lay crumpled on the ground in the street.

Casey quickly got out of the car and met Sarah and Chuck by the body of the poisoner. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, "Ahhh, my leg. I think you broke my leg."

"You ok, Walker?" said Casey.

"Yeah. Vest took the impact. I'll be sore,..." Casey had no doubt about that. Even with a vest, being hit with a single 9mm round carried the impact of a sledgehammer blow. It hurt like hell and would leave a bad bruise. "...but I'll be alright."

"Kid?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. In addition to the vest, I had that bulletproof clipboard you gave me in my bag. It took the bulk of the force from the bullet."

Casey grunted.

They squatted around the man in the janitor's uniform, lying in the road moaning and complaining. Chuck flashed. "Hey, I recognize you. Payne. Riordan Payne. You find hard to find things, like the Sanctuary Report, and sell them to people who want them, like China or Russia."

"What's that noise?" asked Sarah. There was a hissing sound coming from Payne's messenger bag lying on the street next to him. She opened the bag and took out a ruptured aerosol can, spraying its contents into the air and on all four of them. Although they were all sprayed, it happened that the split in the side of the can was pointed directly at Payne as she took it out of the bag. By far the bulk of the substance went directly into his face. He gasped from shock and surprise, inhaling a large dose.

Payne yelled, "It's the poison. The truth drug. Get rid of it. Get rid of it now. Get rid of it." As he spoke, the can emptied its contents and went silent. Payne reached for his bag with an element of desperation. He was easily stopped by the three people surrounding him.

Casey said, "Shit. Now we are all poisoned."

"I have an ampule of antidote in my bag. Just let me drink it and I can take you to more of it... more of the antidote."

"Fuck you, Payne," said Casey. "Deal doesn't work that way. You tell us where the rest of the antidote is and maybe you get some."

"No. I'm your prisoner. I have my rights. You have to give me medical attention...Urggghhhh," Payne said, his words cut off by Casey's big hand clamping down on his throat.

Casey leaned forward, his angry face inches from Payne's, and said, "I'm not a cop. You listen to me, you little shit. You killed three people today and a fourth victim is clinging to life. You think you are entitled to anything from me? You're not. If I didn't need the antidote, I'd kill you right here and now and head out for a bite to eat. I'm thinking pancakes. You understand me now?"

"Whitney?" asked Sarah with a raised eyebrow.

"Just died," responded Casey.

"Dammit," she said, pushing back a lock of hair that had strayed down into her face.

Payne's eyes were starting to glaze over from the drug. Casey slapped him hard across the face and said, with urgency, "Where's the rest of the antidote, asshole? Well? Your life depends on the answer. Hey...hey...you still with me here? Hey."

Payne was rapidly fading. He was shaking his head from side to side and seemed to have trouble focusing his gaze. "Hay is for horses...my mom used to say that. heh, heh, you guys are trying to stop me, but you can't cause I'm too good for you. I always win...I'll get Report...Belgian...fucking guy...Volkoff's man's a thief...Antidote at home...easy...at home...home...home run...I don't like baseball...boring game...I used to do gymnastics...that was fun...Fun and games...I play video games sometimes...shooting games. I win. I always win. I'm a winner. Cops don't catch me. I'm too good. You guys are good too. You're pretty," he said, trying to look at Sarah. "You're not," he said in Casey's direction.

"Where is your home?" asked Chuck.

"LA...I like the weather...I don't like the mudslides...or wildfires...or earthquakes...or traffic...why do I live in LA anyway?"

"Where in LA, Payne?" asked Sarah.

"The sandy part. Sand...yellow...tan...sand," he said. He faded and fell into unconsciousness.

Sarah said, "Let's get him back to the hospital. In addition to the poison, you hit him with the car. He was complaining about his leg, so he might have other injuries."

Chuck and Casey each took an arm and dragged him to the Crown Vic. He lost a shoe on the way, but Sarah collected that with his messenger bag. They put Payne in the back of the car, with Sarah in the back next to him. She handed Chuck Payne's bag. Casey gestured to the glove compartment and said, "Gloves."

Chuck took out and donned a pair of latex exam gloves from a box in the compartment and began to go through the contents of the messenger bag, still potentially contaminated by the spray from of the sodium pentothal derivative. Meanwhile, Sarah was searching Payne himself. She gave the contents of his pockets to Chuck.

Chuck gave a small snort of laughter, "Whitney wasn't in pain, guys. He wasn't hurting. Remember, Sarah, when he said he was in pain? He was just trying to tell us the name of the man who poisoned him." He found what he was looking for in the bag and removed a small bottle of green liquid. He looked at it closely, as if pondering its contents. They arrived back at the hospital and called Fitz. Being undercover, they didn't intend to announce to the hospital staff or LAPD that they had apprehended the poisoner. Fitz and his men could do that. And, anyway, he should be examined by the doctors.

Fitz and Leo took Payne away to present him to the doctors, leaving Team B together holding the single dose of the antidote. With profound emotion in his voice, Chuck said one word, "Ellie." Both Sarah and Casey turned to look at him. Before they could say anything, he said, with a hand raised to forestall interruption, "We have to save Ellie. I know you are going to try to talk me out of it. It's your job to protect me. I understand that. But it doesn't matter. I can't take the antidote and let Ellie die. I can't do that..." His voice broke a little bit with the force of his emotion. "It's Ellie, for God's sake. She has to live. And don't give me any crap about me being the Intersect and valuable. I don't care. The Intersect doesn't mean shit compared to Ellie's life. The country survived without it until two months ago and will continue to survive if it's gone. It doesn't even work that well. Please, we have to save Ellie. Please."

Sarah reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. There was a world of emotion in her eyes. She said, "Oh, Chuck."

Casey, on the other hand, just said, "You done?"

"Yeah," said Chuck.

"Of course, we have to save Ellie, kid. Of course. Let's go," said Casey.

They jogged through the hospital corridors to Ellie's room. Luckily, Awesome was still in the cafeteria, so they didn't have to distract him. Chuck took the antidote and gently poured it into Ellie's mouth. And they all hoped for the best.

"Okay, kid. You've done all you can for her. Now go find out where Payne lives. How about you look for his address as if our lives depend on it?" said Casey.

"Yeah, no shit, Case." Chuck found a vacant room next to Ellie's and opened his computer. No government databases had Payne's home address. Wherever he lived, he did so under an alias. Chuck emptied Payne's messenger bag and the contents of Payne's pockets onto the hospital bed and began to look for an address. Nothing. It's not like he expected to find a note - "If found please return to..." With nowhere else to look, he opened up the man's laptop and broke the encryption. He noted that the system was connected to the hospital's wifi network.

The first program to come up was the program controlling the bug listening to the conversations in Ellie's room. There was a small red dot on a map showing the location of the bug. He accessed the base information about the bug and found an ability to turn it off remotely. He turned it off. The red dot on the map disappeared. He turned it on. The red dot reappeared. Interesting. He began to search the program and finally found what he was looking for. A list of the other bugs Payne had in his inventory and synced with the program. Chuck clicked on all of them and turned them on. Switching to the map, he saw all of the red dots stationary at two locations, one of them the room he was sitting in, no doubt reflecting the bugs from Payne's bag sitting on the bed. 'That's good,' he thought. Switching maps, he found that the other location was a house in El Segundo, near the beach.

"Sarah. Casey. Let's go," said Chuck, stepping out of the room. "All Payne's other bugs, the ones not here, are located in a house in El Segundo."

"Outstanding, Bartowski. Let's go." said Casey.

On the drive to Payne's house, or what they hoped was Payne's house, Chuck said, "Well, if this doesn't work out, at least I don't have to work out my five year plan any more. Streamline that down to a few hours. But I accomplished a lot today. Do my laundry. Check. Find the poisoner. Check. Save my sister's life. Check. Save my partners and me. Not so much. At least not yet. Hoping for the best, I guess."

"You did great today, Chuck. You faked out Payne perfectly. You caught him running. You found out where he lives. You did great," said Sarah, twisted around in the car to face him. They were all feeling the effects of the drug, to a greater or lesser degree.

"Thanks. You're so nice to me, Sarah. You're always so nice to me. It makes me feel really good. Like I can do anything. But I know I can't." He shrugged. "I still work at the Buy More. I know I'm just a host for the Intersect. It's what I bring to the team and it's just a fucking accident. You and Casey are so awesome, so skilled, so talented and well trained. You're the best...I'm just..."

Sarah was about to speak when Casey pre-empted her. "Cut that crap, kid. It's bullshit and if you don't know that, you should. You are an integral member of this team, even when that fucking Intersect isn't firing. Sure, you don't have the training we do, but that just makes what you accomplish that much more impressive. Get your head out of your ass and see this thing for what it is. You are fucking good at what we do. Even without any training or that computer in your brain, you're really good at it."

Sarah said, smiling at Casey and then at Chuck, "Casey's right. You are so much more than the Intersect. Don't think that way. Don't ever think that way again. You know the confidence that you had in college, before Bryce fucked you over to keep you away from us? It was deserved. And now it deserves to be back. Think about the last two months. You can do anything you want. Be anything you want. Your world is open and unlimited. Anything you want, you can have." She looked at him deeply, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling with warmth, and said in a slightly softer voice, "Anything." Neither of them noticed Casey give her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Chuck smiled and reached out to give her hand a squeeze.

They arrived at the location in El Segundo. It was a large freestanding house within walking distance of the beach. They headed to the back door, because the back door was more concealed for a break-in. Sarah took out her lock picking tools and bent to the door. Casey said, "Walker, we're poisoned. Ticking clock here. Step aside." She did. He kicked the door with the flat of his foot once just above the lock. It popped open with a crash. Guns drawn, they spent four minutes clearing the house to make sure there were no unpleasant surprises. Then they got down to the task of searching the house for the antidote.

Soon they found a container labelled "SP-117 Anti". Inside were five ampules of a liquid matching the one from Payne's bag and an empty slot for the one they had found and given to Ellie. They were all definitely feeling the effects of the drug by this point and wasted no time. Clicking the ampules together, Chuck said, "Cheers". They all downed the antidote.

Chuck let out a sigh. "Good. Maybe we won't die today. Good. I didn't really want to die, to tell the truth."

Casey gave a growling chuckle and said, "Yeah. I didn't really want you to die either, moron."

Chuck laughed quietly, mostly from relief, and said, "Thanks...you know...you...Malena...when we were with Malena...pretending that we were brothers...you remember that, Case? … brothers...I never had a big brother before...Big sister, but not big brother... that's kind of...well, now I kind of like it … that's how I …"

"Stop it, kid. It's the drug talking. You have to resist it like our partner Sarah here...see? She's fighting the effects...she's not talking..." He was right. Her training had taught her the best way to avoid the effects of sodium pentothal was to clench your jaw shut and not say a word. "See? Our partner...partner... odd word for me to use...military we don't have partners...chain of command...on teams I was in command...Major, you see?...not command here...equals...partners...never had partners before...singleton or commander...partners ...are good...you are good...both of you...I like it, even with all the lovey-dovey crap I have to listen to...proud...I'm proud to be serving with you, Chuck...you and Walker both...we've done good work...even today, we saved Ellie...caught Payne...good...ah, crap...I'm talking...crap...Shut up...I'm going to search the house...See what else I can find. I shouldn't be driving now anyway...or talking."

He wandered away mumbling to himself.

Chuck laughed, and said, "Careful, big guy." He felt almost giddy, and didn't know if it was the effect of the drug or relief that they had taken the antidote and would live. He looked at Sarah, who was staring at him wide eyed and silent. The muscles of her jaw bulging slightly with her effort to keep herself quiet. "No talking?" She shook her head 'no' with almost comic exaggeration, but never took her eyes from him. He smiled at her and took her hands in his. "Ok. Me...I can talk...Didn't want to say it before...too soon...it would freak you out, but...Talk... I love you... feels really nice to say it.. I love you...not quiet now... God, I feel like I've been bottling this up forever... I love you, Sarah Walker... since the first moment I saw you...we're perfect for each other ...I want to spend the rest of my life with you... only been together a couple of months and already my love for you has re-shaped everything. Everything in my life. You mean everything in the world to me." He touched her cheek gently. "I'm going to kiss you now." He leaned down and kissed her still silent lips. She returned the kiss with her eyes closed. Then he wrapped her in his arms and held her close.

She clung to him, her head resting on his chest, and didn't say a word.

Inside, though, her thoughts were chaotic. 'He loves me...he loves me...Chuck loves me...someone loves me...other men have said the words, but they had always been hollow, intended solely to get me horizontal for a while. Chuck really means it...Why am I reacting this way? Why does it seem like the world has just shifted on its axis? I've heard these words before...not like this...not at all like this...Chuck loves me...me...with all my flaws and shameful history...he doesn't know my history...he doesn't know who I am or what I've done...he might not love me then...no, this is Chuck...he will love me still...you don't know that, girl...tell him how you feel ...tell him that you...that you...' Then her father's voice started to talk to her inside her head, soft spoken, but insistent. ' _Love isn't real, honey. It's all a con. What those people think they feel is fake. This is all a game and they are the losers. We are the winners. That's what we have to do...win...Don't ever feel for the marks...don't ever feel for other people...that's how you lose the game...the world isn't all happy lovey stuff...that's just what the losers tell themselves to get through the day...it makes them sheep...we live in the real world...we know better...'_ She thought, 'No, Dad. This is real. This is real. He really loves me. Chuck loves me. And I...' Her dad started again, ' _Don't go down that path, honey. It's a slippery slope. The next thing you know you'll be married with a passel of kids and it's game over for you.'_ She was crying and didn't even realize it. She hugged Chuck tighter, silently, while her mind spun in circles.

Casey came back into the room. "I've called Fitz to come with his team. I'm not good with driving yet and we've got to get the antidote back to the hospital for that asshat Payne. But they can finish the search. This place is a goldmine of information. Beckman and Graham are going to be thrilled. It will take a week to empty it of all the useful stuff I found, and I didn't even finish a partial search. We still don't have the Sanctuary Report, but there's a lot of good stuff here anyway."

Sarah pushed herself off Chuck and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath. She smiled at Chuck and said to Casey, "Kay."

They went about searching the house more carefully. She still wasn't talking, but she couldn't take her eyes from Chuck for very long.

He loves me, she thought.

She wasn't surprised. He'd acted that way since the beginning. Or, at least the way she had always imagined people in love acted. A million little things he had done over the time they had been together. The way he looked at her. The way he spoke to her. The way he touched her. The sex. She had told him truthfully after their first time together that it was the best sex she had ever had and, as their feelings for each other had grown, it had just gotten better and better. And, as great as it was, it was nowhere close to the defining element of their relationship together, as it had been with prior men in her life. He had said the words, though. Said the words. Three times. She couldn't explain it and didn't know why, but saying the words...that was huge. A really big deal. She was aware that she had not said the words back to him. Very, very aware. She sucked at talking about her feelings. She knew that. It was part of the baggage she had warned him about when they first got together.

They found all manner of interesting things Payne must have kept for sale, including a prototype of a new spy camera, blackmail information on seven foreign leaders and three US Senators, a list of Chinese MSS agents in Vietnam, the Russian battleplan for an invasion of Ukraine, and the formula for Coke. As the drug wore off, or the antidote kicked in, they were able to think more clearly. Chuck started working on Payne's main computer and found some innovative hacking tools that he copied to a thumb drive on his keychain.

Casey said, "Guess Payne was a hacker. Explains where he got a lot of his stuff. Maybe he's not in the class of the Joker, QBR, or the Piranha, but probably pretty good."

Chuck deliberately kept looking down at the keyboard beneath his fingers, "Who?"

"A few of the top hackers, past and present," replied Casey, while looking through some paper files.

"Oh," said Chuck, still not looking up.

Fitz and his men arrived to take over. Billy agreed to drive them back to the hospital in Casey's Crown Vic, with Leo following in one of their cars. During the drive, Sarah still didn't say much, but sat in the backseat holding Chuck's hand and looking out the window at Los Angeles passing by.

He loves me.

Without her noticing too much, Los Angeles was gradually becoming one of her favorite cities. The air was softer that night. Darkness had fallen and the early evening lights twinkled.

Chuck went to check on Ellie while Casey and Sarah went with Billy and Leo to make sure Payne got his own dose of the antidote. He joined them a few minutes later.

"How's Ellie?" asked Sarah.

"Good. She's dressed in her clothes from last night and Devon is taking her home. The antidote worked great."

"That's wonderful," said Sarah. Casey grunted.

"Yeah, but that's not all. Look." Chuck held out his hand. In the center of the palm was a computer chip. "She thinks Whitney dropped this into the pocket of her sweater. She asked me to give it to Fitz if it's actually the chip he's looking for."

"She asked you to give it to Fitz? She didn't want to give it to him herself?" asked Casey.

"Apparently not," said Chuck. They contacted Fitz and looked at the contents of the chip. It was the Sanctuary Report. Fitz took it to return it to the think tank from which it had been stolen. Although the mission was a success, four people (counting the janitor, whose body had been found by that time) had been murdered in Payne's efforts to get the Report. It was hard to be upbeat after that body count.

As Sarah, Chuck and Casey were leaving the hospital, Chuck got a text from Morgan.

 **U and S. Dinner w/ me and Lou? 8pm at Gino's. K?**

After checking with Sarah, he texted back that they would be there. Damn, his little buddy had moved faster than he thought.

They went directly to dinner from the hospital. They were on time, but Lou and Morgan were there already, sitting in a booth. The two couples spent the next couple of hours eating pizza, drinking a couple of bottles of Montepulciano and laughing, but through it all Sarah was uncharacteristically quiet.

He loves me.

She took every opportunity to touch him. As if to continually reassure herself that he was real. She looked at him almost constantly, almost ignoring Morgan and Lou. She wished she had a girlfriend to talk to. Maybe Ellie, tomorrow. Not now, of course. She'd had a very bad day. Maybe Carina. No, Carina would just gloat and say, 'I told you so.' For the first time in years she regretted losing touch with Rachel and Karen. But she was a CIA agent. She didn't have civilian friends. It was the ideal job for her, if her dad could pick. No real relationships, only short-term couplings. The thought of Bryce flashed into her head and out again just as fast. Don't let anyone get close to you or get to know you, knowledge was power and anyway, you might have to leave in the morning. The life of an agent was just like the con life she'd been bred to.

He loves me.

Chuck and Morgan were in the middle of a funny story about waiting in line for a Star Wars movie when Sarah said, "We're moving in together."

The three others stopped and looked at her, as the statement had come out of the blue, almost blurted. Chuck looked at her with surprise, but started to smile. Morgan said, "What?"

"Yeah," said Sarah. The smile she gave Chuck would have illuminated a medium sized city. "Chuck and I. We're taking that apartment across the courtyard. It's just become vacant. We're taking it together. It's going to be our new ho...home. Together." There was a pressure behind her eyes as she stumbled over the word "home" and she knew if she lingered on the word too long, she'd start to cry thinking about it.

"Well, that's great," said Morgan, grinning. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"It's the first Chuck's hearing of it also, but it's happening. We're going to visit the building manager for a lease first thing in the morning," she said.

"Congrats," said Lou with a grin, happy for her new friends.

"Are you sure we're ready?" Chuck asked with a smile, almost teasing her a little, squeezing her hand.

"Oh, we're ready. We're ready. We're so ready." she said, nodding emphatically and looking at him with all the love she could put into her gaze. She couldn't bring herself to say it, and couldn't even really admit it to herself, but some part of her really wanted him to know.

He loves me.

His love for her was like a big, fluffy, warm towel directly from the dryer. She wrapped herself in it and luxuriated in its warmth and the comfort it brought her. Until then she hadn't even realized that she'd been chilled her entire life.


	46. Chapter 46

A/N: Ownership of Chuck is ...well, it just is. Deal with it.

Welcome to the eighth arc of New Day. I'm calling it the Larkin Arc. Let's get going, huh?

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Sarah said, "I hate it."

Chuck and Sarah stood in Lou's Gourmet Italian Deli and looked at the sandwich list on the wall behind the counter. At the moment, the store was closed and they were the only ones in the front. His arm was over her shoulders and hers was around his waist, her hand tucked into the back pocket of his pants.

Chuck said, "Well, it's better than 'Saruck'."

"I know, but 'Charah'? The Charah sandwich? Are we really to be immortalized in a sandwich? And our whole complicated, wonderful relationship has been reduced to a cutesy portmanteau? What are we now...Brangelina?"

"Wow. Portmanteau. What a great word. You're really smart. Did you go to Harvard or something?" She smirked and bumped him with her hip. "And anyway, it's not just any sandwich, babe. Mozzarella, prosciutto, and pesto with sundried tomatoes. On focaccia. It's a pretty great sandwich."

"I know, but what about keeping a low profile? I mean, we're supposed to be …" said Sarah.

"Shh, here they come," said Chuck.

Morgan and Lou came out of the back room together. Lou said, "Well? What do you think?"

Sarah plastered a huge (convincing) smile on her face and said, "I love it. I think it's fantastic. I have a sandwich named after me, well, half of me, I mean half of us, I mean...it's great." She was laughing. "Thanks."

"Well, you two are so cute together. Morgan thought we just had to do it." said Lou, looking satisfied with herself.

"And it's only fair. I have a sandwich named after me too. I don't want you two to get jealous of the honor that Lou has bestowed on me," said Morgan, as he made a grand sweeping gesture with his arm.

"Well, no chance of that now, buddy. We're good," said Chuck.

"Sorry to keep everybody waiting," said Lou. "I just had to close up."

"No worries," said Chuck. "We have plenty of time."

Morgan looked impatiently at his watch. "I don't know. I don't want Beowulf to kill Grendel without us. That would be totally uncool," said Morgan.

"No risk of that. There are at least a half dozen trailers before the movie starts. And it's only like a four minute walk across the mall," said Sarah.

"I love trailers," said Morgan.

As they all turned to leave, Lou stopped by the door to turn off the lights for the evening. As she did so, Chuck glanced at the cork board on the wall. His eye was drawn to the flyer for Club Ares. He wondered why anyone would name a club after the God of War. Wouldn't "Club Eros" be a better name? Nobody goes to dance clubs to fight. He was just about to look away when he flashed on the name of the club owner. Seems the man came from a shipping family involved in smuggling from the Middle East. 'Well, thought Chuck, 'guess I know how Lou gets her olive oil smuggled in.'

Lou said, "You okay, Chuck."

"Oh, yeah. No problem," he said as they were leaving the store. Watching her lock it up, he said, "What's with the flyer for Club Ares? You go there often?" Sarah had seen him flash and would understand that he was asking for a reason.

"Oh, God, no. That place is owned by my ex. He's a jerk. I don't see him any more than I have to," she said.

Morgan said, "Ah. A bad ex-boyfriend. I understand. If you ever choose a new boyfriend, I know you will do a better job of it. Now that you have the experience of what bad is, I mean."

Lou put her arm through his as they walked and said, "I intend to be more picky the next time around. I'll have you know that I have very high standards." She looked at Morgan with a cute smile.

"What was your ex like? Why was he such a jerk?" asked Chuck.

"Possessive. Controlling. Jealous. Spoiled. Hot tempered. He doesn't like me with anyone else, even now. Even though we're over as a couple. The last guy I dated after him he trashed his car. He threatened to kill the guy," she said.

Morgan nodded and said, "Well, I don't own a car, so I guess that's good, right? But, yeah. That sounds like he's a jerk alright. Better to leave him be."

Lou said, "I don't want to talk about him. The last thing you want is that lunatic swimming around in your head. If I think about him too long, it will ruin the movie for me."

"Well, that's it then. I will not mention that dude's name again. Wait a second. I didn't mention it the first time. What's his name? So, I know not to say it by accident."

"Stavros Demetrios," said Lou, with a laugh.

"Hummm," said Morgan. "Not likely to say that name by accident."

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The next morning, Chuck, Casey and Sarah were in Casey's apartment. They had finished a pancake breakfast and the newspapers and gone through the files and information that Beckman and Graham had sent for Intersect review. Chuck had just put all the information from his flashes into a message to Beckman and Graham. Almost as an afterthought, he added that they had come into contact with the ex-girlfriend of Stavros Demetrios, whose family was involved in smuggling through their international shipping company.

Sarah had been in a great mood all morning, laughing and joking with her partners. She was incredibly excited to be planning for the new apartment they were taking across the courtyard. While she engaged Chuck in discussions of the design and layout, she also engaged Casey in discussions of security and special spy modifications they were have to install.

Chuck and Sarah finished doing the breakfast dishes and, moments before they were about to leave for their cover jobs, there was a tone indicating that a video conference was commencing. Sarah pushed a button to accept the conference. The TV came alive and Graham and Beckman were facing them.

"Good morning, Team," said Beckman.

"Good morning, Ma'am. Sir," they murmured.

"This morning's report from Chuck included an item of urgent interest," said Beckman. "You have come into contact with a member of the Demetrios family, a family of wealthy ship owners from Greece. Their real business is smuggling, especially arms and drugs from and around the Middle East. We have picked up recent chatter with respect to the family. Our analysts believe that a very important, volatile, time sensitive package is being smuggled into the Port of New York by one of their ships. We don't know what the package is, but given their ties to the Middle East we are concerned that it's a weapon of some kind." A picture of Demetrios filled the screen.

"We need you to get close to Stavros Demetrios and find out whatever you can about this package. Maybe you'll flash on something, Chuck," said Graham.

"Sir, we didn't come into contact with him directly. As I said in my message, we know his ex-girlfriend," said Chuck.

"Chuck, to a spy that's as good as an engraved invitation and an open door," said Graham.

"He's right, Chuck. We'll manage, Sir. Do we know if Stavros is involved in the family smuggling business? Do we think he might know about the package?" asked Sarah.

"We don't know. Determining that will be part of your mission," said Beckman. "He might be merely a playboy and a club owner with unfortunate taste in parents." A picture of an older man filled the screen. "This is Yari Demetrios, his father, the shipping magnate."

"Do we know what ship the package is on? I presume the Demetrios family only has a limited number of ships on their way to New York at the moment," asked Casey.

"We don't know. The family has five ships making their way to that port right now. The package must be on one of the five, but we can't narrow it down further from the intercepts the NSA has collected," said Graham.

"Stop and search all five," said Casey. "Better than letting a bomb approach New York."

"Yes, but if we did that we'd let the opposition know that we are listening to their chatter. We need to protect sources and methods, Major."

"Coventry," said Casey.

"We won't let it get to that, Major," said Graham.

"This might be a bit of a long shot, Sir. Demetrios is physically removed from New York, and even farther from Athens. And you indicated that there's no evidence that he is connected to the shipping business, like his family. He might be a dry hole," said Sarah.

"Understood, Agent Walker. We have other teams working this problem. One in New York, and several in Europe," said Graham. "As successful as your team has been, we are not putting all our eggs in your basket."

"Well, I don't know if Demetrios will have any useful information, Sir, but if he does, we'll get it," said Sarah.

"I don't doubt that for a minute, Agent Walker," said Graham.

"Timing?" asked Casey.

"We don't know. Our intel isn't very clear. Impression is the package will be arriving any day. That makes the mission of the utmost urgency," said Beckman.

Chuck raised his hand slightly to forestall them ending the call. "General, Director, do we have a FISA warrant on Demetrios?"

"Not at the moment, Chuck," said Beckman.

"Is he even a citizen?" asked Casey. "That might not be necessary."

"No, Case. Resident aliens have FISA protection too," said Chuck. Casey gave him a look, and Chuck said to him, "What? After Fleming I read a book on FISA. I thought it might come in handy." Casey grunted.

Graham chuckled and said, "Chuck is right, Major. We'd need a FISA warrant to get at Demetrios' info."

"Well, if you are sending us in there, perhaps we want to try to get one. Be nice to read his emails and stuff before we try to get anything out of him. Do you think we have enough on him to make a request?"

"I don't know, but it's a good idea, Chuck. We'll look into it. I'll take care of that on an emergency basis," said Beckman.

"Thank you, General," said Chuck.

"Alright, good luck, team," said Graham.

The screen went black. Chuck sighed and started to take off his tie. "Well, no Buy More for me today. Casey, ok if I stay here to work?"

"Sure, kid," said Casey. "You know where the coffee is."

"I can do a complete work-up on Demetrios and his family, but we still have to get close to him. Lou is not going to be too happy inviting him to tag along on a date with us and Morgan."

"Leave that part to me, sweetie. I'm going to get us an invite to Club Ares tonight. To meet him."

"How are you going to do that?" Chuck asked.

Sarah said, "I'm a spy. I can be very charming when I need to be."

"She means manipulative," said Casey.

"There's a difference?," asked Sarah.

"Ok. You're not going to make me dance, are you?" asked Chuck with a small smile.

"We are going to be doing nothing but dancing, and let me tell you..." she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. He began to blush.

"Oh, for God's sake, Walker. Give the kid a break. He has work to do," growled Casey.

Sarah's laugh was almost musical.

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Lou's Deli was quiet when Sarah entered. The countermen were still setting up for the day and no customers had yet come in for lunch. One of the men gave Sarah the cup of coffee she'd ordered. Lou saw her and waved. Sarah waved back and took a seat at a table by the window. After a little while, Lou joined her with a cup of coffee of her own.

"Hey," said Lou.

"Hey," said Sarah brightly. "Have fun last night?"

"I did. It was a good time. I liked the movie and that dim sum place Morgan took us to afterwards was great."

"If there's one thing I've learned about Morgan it's that he's the hands down best authority on good, cheap food. He's a bit of a foodie. Chuck says he's a great cook too. There's another Chinese place he introduced me to, the Bamboo Dragon, that you just have to try sometime."

"I will," Lou looked at her coffee cup for a second or two. "You like Morgan, huh?"

"Yeah. I started dating Chuck just a few months ago and we're getting pretty serious, pretty quickly..."

"No kidding," said Lou. "You two are just so adorable together. So much in love. It's an absolute pleasure to see. Hence..." she gestured over her shoulder at the new sandwich listed on the board, "...the Charah." Lou laughed.

Sarah joined in her laughter and said, "Yeah, thanks again for that. But back to your question, though. I do like Morgan. He and Chuck have been best friends for twenty years or something. And suddenly I step in and monopolize Chuck. Morgan could have ...been difficult. Could have been jealous. But he wasn't. He was just happy for Chuck. Happy for us. That's really nice. Unselfish. Good hearted. Just nice."

"And he's pretty cute, in a goofy way," said Lou, with a bit of a smirk.

"Well, I like goofy. In case you couldn't tell."

"I guess we both like goofy a bit," said Lou, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Lou, can I ask a favor?" asked Sarah.

"Sure. What's up?"

"How close are you to your ex? The guy who owns the club. Club Ares."

"I still deal with him sometimes," Lou said. Sarah had been confident that she did. The fact that she had her olive oil smuggled in and her ex-boyfriend's family was into smuggling could not be a coincidence.

"Cause Chuck and I have a friend, John Casey. He works with Chuck and Morgan at the Buy More, but he'd like to get part-time work as a DJ. He's made a demo tape of himself DJ'ing a party a few months back. He's been handing it out to club owners, but hasn't been able to get it to Club Ares."

"Sure. Give me the tape and I'll get it to Stavros. Not a problem at all," said Lou.

"Thanks. I was wondering though, if I could give it to him. Myself, I mean. If I could meet him and give him the tape. I figure if I bat my eyes and look appreciative, I might get some reaction from him. He might pay attention to Casey's tape rather than throw it away or drop it in a desk drawer."

Lou started to laugh. "Oh yeah, he'd pay attention alright. He'll pay attention to trying to get into your pants. The guy's a hound, Sarah. You're gorgeous, but even if you weren't and only had a pulse, he'd still hit on you. Even if you tell him you have a boyfriend. That won't stop him at all."

"Oh, I wouldn't go without Chuck. I'm not going behind Chuck's back or anything. I wouldn't do that."

"Ha. That will be funny to see Stavros hit and miss with you. That won't be a problem, Sarah. I can easily take you in some night and introduce you to him so you can give him your friend's tape. No problem. Just let me know when you want to go. Morgan and I will go with you and Chuck. I don't look forward to having him meet Morgan, but Morgan will have safety in numbers with you and Chuck there, I guess. Better that way than alone."

"How about tonight?" asked Sarah.

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A/N2: Ok, let's talk about the package coming in to the Port of Los Angeles in canon. Here's the canon story – Bryce leaves Helsinki on a container ship and arrives in Los Angeles 73 hours later, presumably having gone through the Panama Canal. Ummm. No. I had to fix that. A TV show has a limited budget and tight schedule for shooting so everything in the story happens in Los Angeles, where the studio films. However, a written story like this can be set on Mars if I could provide a rational explanation for locating it there. Anyway, New York (it's actually called the Port of New York and New Jersey, as almost all of the container facilities are located on the Jersey side of the harbor) is closer to Helsinki than Los Angeles is, it's the third largest container port in the US, and the largest on the east coast. This makes much more sense.

A/N3: Casey's "Coventry" comment is from an event during World War II. The British allowed the city of Coventry to be bombed rather than reveal the fact that they had the ability to read the German codes. It's the textbook example of the potential cost of protecting sources and methods.

A/N4: In the prior chapter, during the gunfight with Payne, Chuck was protected by a bulletproof clipboard he carried in his messenger bag. Several readers asked me about that in PM's, so I thought I'd mention it here. That's a real thing. A few years ago, I bought a half dozen of them and gave them out to family and friends at Christmas.


	47. Chapter 47

A/N: I like to think that Chuck and Sarah own Chuck, but it's probably Jeff and Lester with my luck.

A/N2: For the portions of this chapter taking place in the main dance room of Club Ares, please imagine all our characters yelling really, really loudly to be heard over the sound of the music. I could have conveyed this by putting all their dialogue in capital letters, but you and I would both find that annoying pretty quickly.

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Led by Lou, who was holding Morgan's hand, they approached the entrance to Club Ares. There was a long line of people waiting to get in and two men at the door controlling access to the privileged domain beyond, each man roughly the size of Wyoming. Upon spotting Lou they smiled and drew back the velvet rope for her and her party. The man on her right bent down and gave her a little kiss on the cheek. She gave them each a smile and a greeting.

Lou, Morgan, Chuck and Sarah entered the main room through a crush of people. The club was a riot of flashing lights, loud music and dancing people. There was a large crowd at the bar struggling to get the attention of some very harried looking bartenders. Morgan said to Lou, "I'm usually...I'm sorry...I usually get more respect at the door. You know, I come here a lot. See, it's here on Monday nights and then Tuesdays is at Hyde. I'm on the circuit, you know. I do my thing." He was grinning to show that he wasn't serious.

Lou looked at Morgan and smiled. She said, "I can't hear a word that you're saying."

"What was that?" he asked.

"I love this song. You want to dance?" She took Morgan's hand and began to lead him to the dancefloor. "I can look for Stavros later." Meanwhile, Chuck and Sarah were looking at the room and the crowd. Chuck was being more obvious than Sarah, but not obnoxiously so. He had already spotted several exits and most of the bouncers. He noted that the tables off to the side were made of heavy looking stone which might block a pistol bullet. (He and Sarah were both wearing bulletproof vests, but it couldn't hurt to notice that other stuff, he thought.) They spotted Demetrios.

The slender man stepped out from the side of the room and approached their group. He wore all black, except for a white tie and white pocket hankie in the pocket of his black suit jacket. His longish black hair was pulled back in a small pony tail and he had just a fashionable bit of stubble on his cheeks. He wore a large fake smile on his face as he stepped up to Lou. The smile didn't reach his dark eyes.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said to Lou, with a Greek accent, while kissing her on the cheek. He turned to look at Morgan.

"Stavros...this is...this is Morgan," she said. "Morgan, Stavros."

"Hey, nice beard," said Demetrios. "You borrow it from Grizzly Adams?" Demetrios laughed and patted Morgan on the side of the neck.

Morgan smiled without humor and said, "No. I took it off a bear I killed." Demetrios pretended to find that funny.

Lou said, "And these are some other friends of mine. Sarah and Chuck."

"Hi, Chuck. Sarah, what a pleasure to meet you," looking her deeply in the eyes, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of her hand. "Just by your presence here in my club, you honor me. Please. Let me buy you all a drink?"

"Sure," said Sarah. "We'd love to."

Demetrios led them over to a table in an alcove where the music was marginally quieter. He gestured to a waiter and a bottle of white wine and five glasses appeared on the low table as they were sitting down. Demetrios said, pouring wine for each of them, "This is retsina. It's the classic Greek wine. Back in history, they would seal the wine casks with resin from pine trees in order to keep out the oxygen. The flavor from the resin would permeate the wine itself. It's still very popular in Greece and," he smiled at Lou like an alligator smiles at a chicken, "I happen to know it's a favorite of Lou's. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"It's ok," she said, clearly not comfortable being entertained by him.

Tasting it, Morgan picked up on Lou's discomfort and said, "It's a little bitter for my tastes, but thank you anyway."

"Well, if it's too bitter for you, maybe we can get you something sweeter. Would you like a Coke, maybe? A Shirley Temple? But I do have to warn you, Marvin, if your tastes run to sweet you will have a tough time with Lou. She is one spicy woman. A real hot-blooded Italian, let me tell you. There was that time in Mykonos when she threw a lamp at my head. I still have the scar." Demetrios showed a spot on his forearm.

"I thought she threw it at your head," said Chuck.

"The scar was from the make-up sex afterwards," said Demetrios with a smirk and a wink.

Morgan wanted to get Lou away from the conversation and said, "Thanks for the drink, Stavros. I think Lou and I are going to dance now." He started to get up.

Stavros leaned over and grasped Morgan's shoulder. He said, "No, stay. At least finish your wine. Wow. You are a tiny man, Marvin."

Morgan shrugged and said, "Morgan. My name is Morgan."

"Do you ever get stepped on? Cause tiny things sometimes get stepped on."

"No. Not too often. Do you ever play Mortal Combat, Stavros? The video game Mortal Combat? They have something there called a caltrop. It's really small, but if you try to step on it it's really fucking painful. So, people learn to leave it alone. See?" Morgan took Lou's hand and said, "Come on, honey, let's go dance."

In their ears Sarah and Chuck heard Casey say, "Holy shit. The hobbit has stones. Who knew?"

Lou seemed more than happy to get away while Chuck and Sarah stayed to talk with Demetrios. This was their opportunity, the reason for the visit to the club. They forced themselves to ignore how rude Demetrios had been to Morgan.

"This wine is really good, Stavros. What did you call it again?" he asked. Chuck found that he actually quite liked the strong taste of the resinated wine. It was a very distinct flavor.

"It's called retsina. I'm glad you like it." he said, pouring a little more into Chuck's glass. "This variety comes from a winery owned by my family on Euboea," said Demetrios.

"Where's that?" asked Sarah, although she knew.

"It's off the east coast of Greece. It's the second largest island in the country," said Demetrios.

"Do you get back often? To visit family, I mean," asked Chuck.

"Sometimes. But I don't want to talk about me. I'm boring. Tell me about you, Sarah. I want to know every little secret," he said, looking at her intently.

She laughed and said, "Wow, Stavros. If you think jet setting to Greece to your family's winery is boring, you're really going to fall asleep in your seat when I tell you about me. First off, Chuck and I are on a mission tonight. We had an ulterior motive for coming to the club. I leaned on Lou to bring us and introduce us to you." She reached into her purse and removed a computer disk. "We wanted to give you this. It's a demo tape of our friend doing a DJ gig. He'd love to get part time work at clubs and has been knocking on doors." She handed him the disk. It was actually blank, but if he ever did look at it (unlikely) she could just claim that she had made a mistake and given him the wrong disk by accident. He put it on the table, next to the bottle of retsina. "But as for my really exciting life? I sell hot dogs at the mall near Lou's deli. Very thrilling. And I come home smelling of grease. And not the really exciting Greece that you were talking about. The grease that they use in a deep fryer. So, please tell us more about your family in Greece, just to avoid all of us having to listen to me ramble on about corndogs."

Demetrios laughed and said, "A woman of your beauty would make even a discussion of corndogs fascinating. How about you, Chuck? What do you do?"

"I work near Sarah and Lou in the mall. I repair computers and phones, stuff like that."

"You repair computers?"

"Yeah, I'm part of the Nerd Herd at the Buy More. That's how I met both Lou and Sarah."

"Because our computers tonight are all messed up," said Demetrios with a mix of frustration and newfound hope.

"What's wrong?" asked Chuck.

"I don't know. Every time we enter something the screen starts to blink. And the machines are very slow. It's a big problem. Look at the bar. It's crazy tonight."

"Ah, that's the Gemini virus. The blink gives it away. It's easy to fix. You should call the Nerd Herd in the morning and they'll send someone over to take a look at it. It's not a big deal," said Chuck.

"Can you do it?" asked Demetrios.

"Sure. When you call, ask for me. They'll send me over..." said Chuck.

"No, I mean tonight. Now? Can you do it now, please?" asked Demetrios.

"Now?" Chuck looked at Sarah, as if asking permission.

Sarah smiled at him and said, "It won't take you too long, honey. Come on. I tell you what, Stavros and I will come and keep you company while you do it. We'll just chat quietly and not bother you."

"You sure? It's no fun to watch me work," he said.

"Sure. Come on," she grabbed his hand and stood up.

Demetrios stood and said, "Thank you, Chuck. Do you need our server room?"

"No, just a quiet office would be fine. Some place with a terminal connected to the network," replied Chuck.

Chuck saw Morgan and Lou dancing and apparently having a good time. He stopped on the way across the room to tell them that he was going in the back to work on Demetrios' computers. Morgan nodded, but rolled his eyes. Demetrios led them through a door marked "Staff" and down a long corridor. The farther they got from the dancefloor the quieter the noise became. They came to a door marked "Office" which Demetrios opened and gestured for them to enter. Closing the door, the music was barely audible, merely a deep base thrum that was transmitted through the building's structure itself. Demetrios indicated the computer on a corner of the desk. Chuck sat in Demetrios' desk chair and spun the computer around, telling Demetrios, "Please enter your password. I don't want to know it." Demetrios did so and spun the computer back around to Chuck.

"Thanks for this, Chuck," he said. "I owe you big time if this works out."

"Oh, don't you worry, Stavros. I'll take care of it. No problem." Chuck spoke with the utmost confidence, as was to be expected, since he had installed the virus himself that afternoon through the Club Ares website.

They had not gotten the FISA warrant for Demetrios. The NSA lawyers did not believe there was sufficient evidence of a connection to his father's smuggling business to merit going before the FISA Court. They had an almost perfect record of getting the Court's approval to their requests. Rather than the Court being merely a rubber stamp for the intelligence agencies, the explanation for that exemplary record was their own self-policing. They simply did not bring to the Court questionable requests. Chuck did not have permission to search Demetrios' computer, even at that moment when sitting in front of it at his desk. He had installed the virus merely to give them an opportunity to talk to Demetrios for an extended period of time. The removal of the virus would take as long as necessary and no longer.

Sarah said, "You good, honey?"

"Yup." He waved a hand at them and genially said, "Talk between yourselves. Ignore me."

Sarah was walking around the room looking at the pictures on the wall. Many were celebrities smiling with Demetrios at the Club, but a few appeared to be family. She pointed to a picture of Demetrios as a child with Yari Demetrios and a sailboat. "Your dad?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes. That was taken off one of the islands. He was teaching me to sail. We still have that sailboat, I think." The look on his face as he talked about his dad spoke volumes. It was clear to Sarah that Stavros loved his father very much.

"Do you still sail?" she asked.

"No. Not really. The family business is shipping, but I don't get a chance to sail myself too much."

"Shipping? Like Fed Ex?"

"No, shipping like ships on the water."

"Oh. That's interesting. Are you involved or do you just run the club?...Oh, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to minimize running the club," she said.

He chuckled. "It's ok. No, I'm not involved in the family business. I have an older brother that has embraced it. I didn't want to live in his shadow, so I left that business to him and started a club on the other side of the world."

"How does the shipping business work?"

"It's not that complicated at its core. You pick up a package someplace and you bring it to a different place. It is like Fed Ex, except over water, I guess."

"Does your brother pester you with stuff about the family business? Try to get you involved?"

"No, he's more than happy to run it with my father. I hang with him when he's here to visit or when I go back to Greece, but otherwise he leaves me alone," said Demetrios.

"Do you go home to visit often?" she asked. She was smiling at him and looking at him with total concentration, as if what he had to tell her was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard.

"A few times a year. And my family comes over to visit me sometimes. My dad is coming to New York tomorrow and wants me to visit him there, but I'm going to have to miss him this time around. We have a big Thanksgiving event here that I have to prepare for. I'll catch him another time."

"What's he doing in New York," asked Sarah.

"Oh, just business. Meeting an important customer with a delivery. Nothing too exciting," said Demetrios.

Chuck and Sarah heard, in their ears, Casey say "Bingo."

"Must be an important delivery for him to come all the way over to New York," said Sarah.

Demetrios shrugged, "I guess so. I don't know anything about it. Probably something breakable or expensive or something." Sarah had had decades of experience lying and being lied to. She was an expert at reading non-verbal cues. She believed him when he said that he didn't know about the package.

"How many ships does your family own?" asked Sarah, although she knew the answer from Chuck's briefing earlier in the day.

"We have sixty-three ships and another one coming soon from a shipyard in South Korea. Not the largest fleet, but my dad started it from nothing. I'm pretty proud of him," said Demetrios.

Sarah giggled. "Sixty-three! My God, how do you name them all? Do you and your family take turns?"

"Ha. No. That's my mom. She names every ship we have. Names them after her children. My niece and nephew. Her cousins. Any sort of family. It's all on her."

"So, there's a Stavros ship running around? I mean sailing around."

"Oh, sure. One of the older ones," he said.

"Well, what are some of the other names? The one your dad is meeting tomorrow, for example. What's that ship named?"

"That's the _Militos_. Named after my nephew."

In their ear, they heard Casey say, "Outstanding, Walker. I'm transmitting the info to the team in New York right now. Well done, guys."

Chuck caught Sarah's eye. She nodded her head a tiny bit.

Chuck pressed a button on the keyboard and said, "Done here. Network fixed. You are good to go, Stavros. Check with the bar. See what they tell you."

Demetrios called the bar on the house phone and was told that the computers had suddenly started to work perfectly. "Chuck, you are a lifesaver. I can't thank you enough." He shook Chuck's hand gratefully.

"Stavros, you introduced me to retsina. I think we are even. I'm going to be looking for that on menus from now on."

"Oh, you'll only find it in Greek restaurants, but I'm so glad you like it. Take a bottle home with you. Let me know if you want a recommendation for the best Greek food in LA. The place is owned by a friend of mine."

"I sure will," said Chuck.

"It was really nice to meet you, Stavros. Don't forget my friend's demo. He'd love the work," said Sarah, as they were leaving the office and heading toward the dance floor. As the music got louder and louder it became harder to hear each other.

"You are both welcome here any time. I'll let the guys at the door know. And drinks tonight are on me. Chuck saved my ass," he said.

"You're welcome. And thank you," she said.

They stayed and danced for another hour or so, to keep up appearances, then left the club. Casey was grateful for the relatively early night and happy to get out of the van.

Driving back to Echo Park, Lou and Sarah got into a conversation about the new apartment that she and Chuck would be taking. Lou was enthusiastic about some of Sarah's design ideas, so they decided to spend a few minutes looking at the empty apartment.

Sarah stopped in front of the door to what would soon be her apartment with Chuck, next to Ellie and Devon's apartment and directly across the courtyard from Casey's. "We don't take it until January 1. The landlord is installing new appliances and painting the place."

"What colors?" asked Lou.

"Haven't decided yet. Chuck's sister, Ellie, and I are meeting in the manager's office next week to look at those paint color strips. Anyway...I don't have a key yet."

She took a credit card from her purse and fit it between the door and the door jam until it met the bolt. Maneuvering the card around to get behind the curved part of the bolt, she easily opened the door to the empty apartment. "One of the first things we're doing is getting better locks." Lou laughed.

The apartment seemed larger now that it was empty of furniture. Sarah began to talk with excitement about her layout and design ideas. Lou eagerly participated and voiced opinions of her own.

Sarah and Lou were still talking about design elements and ideas when Chuck noticed that Morgan had disappeared. He went out to look for his buddy and found him sitting on the edge of the fountain, seemingly lost in thought.

Chuck sat next to him and said, "Hey, buddy. Everything ok? You seem...I don't know, pre-occupied or something. Was it Stavros? From the club? He was pretty rude to you."

"Naw, man. I haven't given that tool a second thought. Everything is good. I'm just thinking, that's all," said Morgan.

"I've warned you about thinking before, you know," said Chuck with a smile.

Morgan smiled a wan little smile and said, "Yeah. Nothing good comes of it. Don't I know it."

"Want to share?"

"It's the apartment. Your new apartment. It's got me thinking about you, about you and Sarah, and me," Morgan said.

"Oh?" Chuck said, curious.

"Things are really good for you, for you both, together. I'm really happy for you," he said.

"Jeez, Morg. I've never heard those words sound glum before," said Chuck.

"No. Not glum. Not about you. I'm happy for you. Both. I really am. Things are starting to work out for you. You are getting out of the rut you were in for years after Stanford. It's great," said Morgan.

"Why do I hear an unspoken 'but' at the end of that sentence?" asked Chuck.

Morgan let out a long sigh and stared at nothing for a long time, his bearded face serious. Finally, he said, "We've been best friends since I knew what those words meant. A long time. Han and Chewie. Together. And then you went to Stanford and you left me behind. I was so happy for you. You'd worked so hard for it and wanted it so much. I had always known you could do it. You were...you are...way smarter than me. Way, way smarter. I knew this was right, you know? The right thing. But I was here, without you. I mean, I'd see you on breaks and stuff and you'd be so excited about school and classes and new friends and Bryce and you had a girlfriend and everything. Like a real exciting awesome life. It was wonderful. And I was stocking shelves at the Buy More and living with my mom. It was really rough on me, but I dealt with it. I missed you. I figured out how to deal with it and I dealt with it. But I still missed you and knew you were going where I couldn't go. In your life, I mean. And then, one day, everything for you turned to shit. That douchebag Bryce framed you and Jill dumped you and you came back. You came back in disgrace and got a job at the Buy More and were living with Ellie again. We were back together. You see, you were a loser, like me. And...and..." Morgan pulled at his beard and didn't look at Chuck. "And some little tiny part of me that I'm totally ashamed of...was happy...cause I wasn't alone in my loserdom anymore. I had you back with me. We were losers together."

Chuck squeezed his forearm and said, "Aw, Morg."

Morgan looked at him with a little smile and a shrug, "So we were both working at the Buy More and I was still living with my mom and you were living with your sister...it was so easy... and neither of us had girlfriends and we could play all the video games we wanted to and hang out and watch movies and...and...I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm sorry I was happy to have you back. Your life was destroyed and I was being selfish."

"No, buddy. Not at all. You were so helpful and supportive through all of that. You kept my mind off all the shitty stuff. Kept me distracted. You've been a great friend. A great best friend."

"Well, thanks. It's an easy job and I'm happy to do it. But the thing is, it's happening again. You're leaving me again...leaving me behind. It started when Sarah came into your life. In an instant, your whole attitude changed. You started to grow up. You're not a loser anymore, Chuck. Things got better. You got better. You've been getting in shape, working out. There's a spring in your step. You have more confidence. You aren't so passive anymore. And you got your degree from Stanford, congratulations again on that, by the way, and you and Sarah are moving in together...which is just wonderful...but, I always thought it would be us. You know? I always thought we'd get a bachelor place together. It's good though. I'm not jealous or anything. It's great. I'm really happy for you, for you and Sarah. You two crazy kids make each other so happy and it's a joy to see it.

"It's me, you see?. You are leaving me behind again, and you should be. So, I'm not unhappy about what you are up to. Not at all. I love you and you know that. But I'm rethinking me...my life. It's like I'm a manchild. I'm 27 years old living in Los Angeles and I don't own a car. Do you have any idea of just how fucked up that is? I mean seriously, what the fuck? As your life improves it just highlights my … stagnation. You are moving on and I'm still here, still stacking shelves at the Buy More for almost a decade now. I have to have a serious think, dude. What am I doing with my life?"

"Any answers?" asked Chuck.

"Not in the five minutes I was sitting here, no. But I'm going to be working on it." He gave Chuck a small grin. "First I have to figure out the questions."

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A/N3: A kind of a talky chapter, but much closer to how spies really work. If you liked it, or not, let me know. Love to hear from you folks.

A/N4: Anybody here also on Facebook? There's a Chuck Fanfiction group page. Join up and chat with fellow readers and writers. The more the merrier.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: Nobody owns anything. A state of nature, apparently.

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Sarah and Chuck were wrapped around each other in his bed and sleeping peacefully, her feet snuggled up against his for warmth, when Sarah's cell phone began to buzz. She roused herself to take it from the side table and look at it. The call was from Casey.

"Ummmm?" she managed.

"We are wheels up for New York in two hours. Just got a call from Beckman. They want us with the New York team for the takedown of the _Militos_."

"Huh. Why?" she asked, still a little groggy from sleep.

"Dunno. My guess is Chuck. Between his study of the Demetrios family business yesterday and the Intersect, he might come in useful there," Casey said.

"Umm, yeah." She glanced at her watch. "You'll have to fly though. I was drinking last night and it's too soon for me." The rule of thumb for a pilot was 'twelve hours from bottle to throttle.'

"Naw, we have a couple of crew this time. We're just passengers. You and Chuck can go back to sleep on the plane," he said.

She chuckled, "Yeah. I just might do that. Thanks, Case." She hung up her phone and nudged Chuck, who was mostly awake. "We're going to New York, sweetie."

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The Cessna Citation X (as in the number ten, not the letter 'ecks') was a beautiful aircraft. Although it had room for twelve passengers to travel luxuriously, its two pod mounted jet engines made it the fastest civilian jet in production. This particular plane had been purchased by an African warlord and acquired by the CIA as part of a sting to destroy the man's blood diamond network. Team Bartowski had a very comfortable ride eastward as the two man CIA flight crew handled all the flying duties. Sarah had never flown one of this type of aircraft and hovered near the cockpit to talk to the pilots about its handling.

They flew down the Hudson River towards Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, giving the passengers a postcard beautiful view of the lights of Manhattan on the left side of the plane. Chuck was huddled by the small window next to him, thrilled at the sight of the famous skyline, and said to Sarah, "Look. It's the Empire State Building. King Kong climbed it. It was Doc Savage's headquarters. It's one of the most famous buildings ever. See that? That's a dirigible mooring mast at the top."

"You ever been up there?" asked Sarah.

"No, but I really want to one day. I've never even been to New York. This is the first time," he said, excitement bubbling in his voice and giving her an excited grin. She grinned back. His enthusiasm was infectious.

"I love it here," she said. "If we have time when the mission is wrapped up, I'll show you around. It's one of my favorite cities."

Between the length of the flight and the time difference from the west coast, it was already dark by the time they arrived in New Jersey. The late November evening was cold and they pulled their jackets around them to protect against the chill. Grabbing their gear bags, they ran across the tarmac from the jet to the helicopter, which was waiting for them with the rotors turning. Casey took Chuck's shoulder and bent him almost double out of concern that his tall frame would come too close to the spinning rotor blades over his head. Stowing their gear bags, they clambered aboard. Just as soon as they were buckled in the helicopter lifted off. It was Chuck's first time in a helicopter, but with everything going on he didn't have much time to savor the experience.

From the helicopter, he saw the spotlit Statue of Liberty in the harbor and what he assumed was Ellis Island in the foreground. The lights of lower Manhattan's hundreds of buildings shined brightly, reflected in the black water of the harbor. The night was a little overcast and there were no stars or moon visible, but that just made the lights of the City seem even more vibrant. Sarah pointed out the gap in the skyline where the World Trade Center used to stand. It was a sobering reminder that what they did had real consequences for real people.

The short flight south took them away from Manhattan to an industrial harbor area just east of Bayonne, New Jersey. They could see multi-colored stacks of the twenty-foot long box-like containers that had revolutionized the shipping industry with their ease of transport and ability to be quickly and easily loaded and unloaded from ships. (And which had also had the side-effect of putting longshoremen worldwide out of work.) There were warehouses and train tracks surrounding the area. Several ships were docked in various stages of being loaded or unloaded by the huge container cranes decorating the harbor landscape like strange pre-historic birds.

A federal agent dressed in all-black tactical gear met them and brought them inside a warehouse. One end had been set up as a makeshift command center with communications gear and weapons sitting on top of wooden crates. There were about a half dozen agents, all dressed for combat and festooned with weapons. A couple of officials from the Port, wearing jackets with the Port insignia, stood off to one side, looking uncomfortable. One agent with a Colt 9mm submachine gun slung over his shoulder broke off from the group to approach the new arrivals. He was medium-sized with close cropped hair and a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Barry Longshore. You guys must be..."

From behind him a blond woman agent yelled, "SARAH." She flew at Sarah and wrapped her in a huge hug, her weapons and gear clattering.

Smiling, Sarah said, "Amy. Hi. This is great. I didn't know you were on the New York team."

"And I didn't know you were one of the hotshots coming in from LA. Half of the CATS on this mission. This is great."

Sarah turned to the rest of her team and said, "Guys, this is Agent Amy Turner. Amy, Major John Casey, he's NSA, but actually okay despite that. And Chuck Carmicheal."

"Hi, guys. Great to meet you both," Amy was grinning widely and seemed to be about to burst with excitement as she shook their hands. "Carmicheal, huh? From Union Station. Wow. That's just great. It's so cool to meet you. You have tons of fans back at Langley. Half the girls in the place would love to get their hands on you. I thought you'd be older." She gave him a frank appraisal from top to bottom and giggled.

Sarah scowled. Chuck smiled, a little embarrassed, and said, "Nice to meet you, Agent Turner."

"No, no, no. Everybody just calls me Amy," she said.

Casey shook her hand, "Nice to meet you, Amy." He turned, and said, "Longshore" shaking the man's hand. "What's the status?"

"Demetrios is huddled with a half dozen men in a shed. He's not near any of the containers from the ship, so we still don't know which one to look in. There are almost 8,000 twenty-foot containers from the _Militos_ and maybe a dozen forty-foot containers, so we might not have time to search them all before whatever clock they have running runs out. This section of the Port is locked down, though, so none of them are leaving tonight."

"Why did we let the ship dock in the first place? Why did we allow it to unload? Wouldn't it make more sense to intercept it at sea? Search it there?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah," said Longshore. "Unfortunately, snafu all around. The word didn't make it up the chain of command to the Coast Guard in time. By the time it did, the _Militos_ had already docked and begun unloading. We were able to close this section of the Port, though, to stop the package from leaving. We couldn't blame national security for the closing of the Port without alerting Demetrios, so we came up with a bullshit computer problem excuse. The people using the facilities here are totally pissed off. They have deadlines to meet and we're screwing them up. Can't say I blame them. We can't keep it going too much longer without coming clean about the reason, and we don't know when the deadline for the package expires or when Demetrios' customer will show. We are out of time and patience, so we're going to go in and wrap Demetrios up. We can start to question him then. We were going to go in a half hour ago, but waited for you to arrive. Want to suit up and join us?"

Casey said, "Hell yeah."

Chuck raised his hand to speak, "Ummm...have we tried to talk to him?"

The other agents looked at him like he was crazy, except Casey and Sarah, of course. Longshore said, "No. We've kept our distance and observed him. I'm not sure walking up to him and asking which container holds the package is going to work too well, Carmicheal."

Sarah said, "Well, it did pretty well last night. Maybe Chuck's idea is a good one. Maybe we can avoid a gunfight."

"Why would we want to do that?" asked Casey. Chuck and Sarah just looked at him. He shrugged and grunted, but there was a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

Chuck asked, "Sarah, do you speak Greek? In case they are speaking Greek to each other."

"Not fluently, but I'll understand what they are saying," she said. "I agree with Chuck. Let's go talk to them." She turned to the two men from the Port. "Hey, guys. Can we borrow your jackets?" The men nodded.

Amy said, "We should go in with you."

Sarah said, "Amy, we are the only ones dressed in civvies." Amy shrugged to concede the point. "Chuck and I will go in together. If we strike out, you guys can follow up heavy. It's worth a shot."

There was a quick discussion of the pros and cons, but soon enough Longshore agreed.

Wearing jackets identifying them as Port officials, Chuck and Sarah walked over to the huge open-sided shed where Yari and his men were waiting in the cold. Approaching them, Sarah said, "Hey. I'm looking for the master of the _Militos._ That one of you guys?" It was pretty clear to Chuck and Sarah that most of the men were armed.

Yari Demetrios stepped forward. he was a somewhat heavy set man in his sixties with a round closely shaven head and a mustache. "I own that vessel. I am Yari Demetrios. What is this computer delay? I have a ship to finish unloading and cargo to move out of the Port."

"Yeah," said Sarah, grumpy, overworked, and impatient. "You and everybody else, Mr. Demetrios. I'm Walker. This is Carmicheal. We have to do this by hand tonight. The computers are fried. No idea why. Sets us back about thirty years, I guess. Anyway, the quicker we get to it the quicker we can get your boxes out of here. We've been doing this all day and have another three ships to go, so I'm really not in the mood for this. I need you to look at this manifest with me. Let's do the easy ones first. What containers are staying here in warehouses?"

Yari came over to her and put on his reading glasses to look at the manifest. She handed him a pen and, comparing Sarah's manifest with one of his own, he started to mark the numbers of the containers which would not be leaving the Port area immediately. There were about three hundred such containers, so the work took a while.

"Ok," said Sarah. "Good start. We can get those moved into warehouses right away. Any of them need special treatment? Refrigerated or something like that? Something we have to handle first? Any priorities?"

One of the other men said, with a glance at his watch, "To pakéto lígei se 15 leptá, anexártita apó tin kólasi pou periéchei." Shit, thought Sarah. Fifteen minutes before the package expires and Demetrios and his men don't even know what it is.

"What's that mean? Is that a priority container?" she asked.

Yari was about to answer when a new voice spoke up, speaking to Yari, "Geia sou, bampá." [Hi, Dad.] 'Oh, shit,' thought Sarah. This just goes from bad to worse. Yari broke off from Sarah and the manifest to greet Stavros, who was explaining in Greek that his mom had guilted him into coming east to visit with his dad despite his plans otherwise.

Sarah and Chuck exchanged a look and Sarah murmured, both for Chuck and for the waiting team, "This is bad. And the package expires in less than fifteen minutes and they don't know what it is."

"Shit." Chuck contemplated what 'expires' entailed and didn't much like where his imagination was taking him. Just as his thoughts were heading into such dark territory, the other shoe dropped.

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Longshore said, "Fifteen minutes? Holy fuck. Carmichael and Walker better pull this out. There's no time for any other alternative." He sounded heavily stressed.

"Yeah," responded Casey. "And what's worse, the new arrival is going to make them."

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Stavros said, "Chuck? Sarah?"

Yari said, in English, "You know them?"

"Yeah. They were in my club last night. Chuck fixed my computers. What are you guys doing here?" He was totally confused.

Yari didn't wait for an answer. He drew a pistol and pointed it at the two fake port officials. "I'll tell you what they are doing here. They are after the package." Each of his half dozen men also pulled out their weapons and pointed them at Chuck and Sarah.

Stavros said, "Holy shit."

"So, tell me. Who else knows about the package?" he asked.

Chuck smiled happily and said to Stavros, "Hey, Stavros. Good to see you. You have a good flight?"

Stavros still looked confused. Yari didn't and stepped forward to touch the barrel of the gun to Chuck's forehead. He said, "Who else knows about the package?"

Looking at the gun, sort of cross-eyed, Chuck said, "The CIA."

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Longshore said, "That's it. They're blown. We're going in. Priority is to collect Yari and our agents, Carmichael and Walker. We have to make Yari give up the package and do it now."

"No," said Casey. "Hold tight."

Longshore, Amy and the other agents looked at him with surprise. After all, his partners were being held at gunpoint.

"Let Carmicheal work," he said, in a deep growl.

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Chuck continued. "And the NSA. And Homeland Security and the FBI. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. Oh, and Coast Guard. Why do you think the Port is shut down, Yari? You think it's a coincidence? But Yari, I have to tell you, and it's just my opinion, that that was a really stupid question. Seriously. Who knows about the package? Obviously, if Sarah and I are here everybody knows about the package. So, a better question is what are we doing about it? That one I can answer. We are trying to get the container number from you in time to defuse the bomb."

Yari's men looked to one another with confusion. "What bomb?" asked Yari.

"The bomb that's going to explode in less than 15 minutes, Yari. That bomb. Want to know the question you should have been asking? Did you ever ask yourself where your customers are? Why aren't they here to pick up their package? Why would they stay away when there's like ten minutes left before it 'expires'" Chuck used air quotes to show what he thought of the word. "Now that's a question I can answer. They're not here because they are a hundred miles away. They don't want to be anywhere in the neighborhood when that thing goes off."

"I gotta tell you something. You want to know what really surprises me, Yari? You've always been a practical business man. Not at all political. You come from a long tradition of Greek shipping men who augmented their income with smuggling. Maybe it's a stereotype, I don't know, but Greeks seem to have an arms length relationship with authority. Smuggling is just the same as any other shipping, so long as you don't really care what the government thinks. But Yari, you've never been political. You smuggle for all sides. You smuggle into Iran for the Israelis. You smuggle into Israel for Hezbollah. You smuggle into Hong Kong for Taiwan. You don't care. It's just money. The only real thing important to you is your family. Your children and grandchildren. You are a good father and grandfather. You always attend your grandkid's birthday parties, and you have seven grandchildren so that's a real commitment. And from everything I can tell, your family loves you back."

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Longshore said, "How does he know all this?"

"Carmichael does his homework when we start a mission," said Casey. "In addition to everything else, he's our analyst. And the kid's got a memory that can't be beat."

Longshore nodded in appreciation. Amy listened with rapt amazement as Chuck kept working on Yari.

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Chuck continued. "Why would you suddenly turn into a political terrorist? There's no money to be made and it promises nothing but destruction for your business and your family."

Yari lowered the gun from Chuck's head and said, "You're wrong. It's not a bomb. I don't know what it is, but they told me it was safe." Yari's men also lowered their weapons somewhat.

"Got you. Okay then. They told you it was safe. Well then, that's just dandy. Let's go home, Sarah. They told him it was safe. So Yari, when it blows up, and you, your men and Stavros...oh, and me and Sarah, are all dead. You be sure to lodge a formal complaint because the men who wanted to blow up New York lied to you. Did you know that not all of the 9-11 hijackers knew that it was a suicide mission? They were useful, but stupid."

"What are you talking about? Why would we all be dead?"

Chuck spoke with clear exasperation, his voice rising in volume. "Yari, for God's sake, THINK. The thing has a ticking countdown, Yari. Why? What happens when the clock gets to zero? The roast is burnt? It's time to change the oil? Come on, man. Think. It's a bomb. Furthermore, what kind of bomb would make any sort of difference in this location? Conventional? C-4? Dynamite? Naw, goes bang and damages the Port facilities. So what? Dirty, chemical or biological? Nope, the prevailing winds would take that stuff out over the water of the harbor and disburse it. So what? There's only one kind of bomb at this location that would have any lasting effect."

Stavros said, "Oh, my God, Dad. He's talking about a nuke. Holy shit."

Yari went pale. His men began to fidget and look nervously among each other. "Can you stop it?" asked Yari.

"Honestly, I don't know. I can certainly try."

Sounding almost as if he were in pain, Yari said, "You don't understand. These men are dangerous."

"Yeah. And you faced down the Crimini mob in that business over Malta. You don't get scared too easily, Yari. You have courage, that much I know."

"They will come after my children, these men. My grandchildren."

"There are children in New York, too," said Chuck quietly.

Yari seemed to wilt at that and said, "Alright, alright. You win. You are looking for container number..."

There was a loud BOOM and Yari flew backwards with a spray of blood from his chest. Chuck was just registering the fact that Yari had been shot by someone when he and Stavros were tackled to the ground by Sarah, behind some boxes for cover. The second round from the rifle impacted where Stavros had been standing. The gun continued to fire, rounds coming down onto Yari's men, who had not reacted as quickly as Sarah had. At least two of them had been shot before the rest found cover. After making sure that Stavros was under cover, Sarah peaked over the top of the box she had taken cover behind, hoping the box was filled with some big heavy machinery instead of cotton balls. She said, addressing Casey and Longshore, "Guys, we are taking fire from a sniper on one of the container cranes. Yari has been hit. And some of his men too."

Chuck said, "Cover me, Sarah." Sarah looked behind her to see Chuck lunge from cover towards the wounded Yari. Desperately, she stuck her head up over the box and began to fire her S&W 5906 towards the sniper. She knew she had almost no chance of hitting him, the distance was much farther than her pistol could effectively reach, but hopefully she could distract the shooter long enough to help Chuck. Whatever the cause, his next shot at Chuck went wide and ricocheted off the concrete with a _spang_ noise. Chuck grabbed the back of Yari's jacket collar and threw himself back under cover, dragging the wounded man with him. He left a long and wide trail of blood on the concrete floor.

Casey, in her ear, said, "Roger that. We're coming in."

Chuck was bent over Yari, his ear near Yari's mouth to hear his whispered words. Longshore's team came in with guns drawn and Yari's men started to shoot at them. Sarah saw Chuck pat Yari's shoulder and say, "We'll do our best." He turned to Sarah and said, urgently, "We gotta go." A very serious looking Amy took up position with a rifle of her own and began to take careful aimed shots at the shadow that was the sniper in the crane. There was no return fire.

Sarah grabbed Stavros and said, "Tell your dad's men to stop shooting. These are our guys. They didn't shoot your dad."

Stavros, more than a little freaked out, started yelling in Greek. Then he turned to Chuck and said, "Go. Go defuse the bomb. Good luck, Chuck."

Sarah took an extra second and placed Stavros' hand over the bleeding wound in his father's chest. "Keep the pressure there, hard." He nodded once.

Chuck said, with a glance at his watch, "Casey, we're heading to Building 5. That's where the package is. We've only got about three minutes left."

Casey responded, "I'll be right behind you. Clear things up here first. Good luck, guys."

Chuck and Sarah made their way from cover to cover away from the sniper. The sound of the gunfire from Yari's men had slowed.

They found Building 5 less than a minute later. Running inside Chuck spotted the container that Yari had indicated. He said, "Here. Here it is." They opened the container. Inside was a cylinder with rounded ends. Shaped like an enormous blue steel lozenge with a heavy seam encircling it lengthwise and several raised seams encircling its circumference. In the front of it was a digital clock counting down. It registered less than two and a half minutes remaining.

Chuck ran around the device, looking for a ready access panel. There was none. The device was smooth steel, except for plates here and there which had been bolted in place. Without a heavy wrench, they would not have been able to open them, so Chuck ignored them. He took out his multitool and pried off the panel with the countdown clock.

He hadn't flashed, so he was just using his skills with tech to explore the inside of the device. It confused him. There was no power wire coming from the timer. It seemed to be merely a timer, not a trigger. The trigger must be elsewhere. He used his penlight to try to see beyond the mass of wires in front of him. To see something inside the device that the wires were connected to. There were what looked like refrigeration tubes or maybe they were heating coils.

Sarah said, "Forty-five seconds. How are you doing, Chuck?"

"Not great. I can't see much inside it and what I can see is crap. It's not a detonator. I can't even see any explosives. Let me look at the other side," he said. There was fear in his voice, but no panic.

Twisting around, he tried again looking the other way inside the device. No joy. He couldn't see anything useful to him to defuse the bomb. He considered for a moment to just rip out the digital clock, but dismissed that as petty vandalism.

"Ten seconds, Chuck." Sarah's voice was betraying the stress they both felt. He had struck out. He couldn't think of anything to stop this machine.

He looked up from his kneeling position and gazed at her with a mix of love and sadness. "I'm sorry. I can't stop it."

Six seconds.

He stood up and took both her hands in his.

Chuck squeezed her hands and said, "I love you, Sarah. That's all that matters." He closed his eyes.

Five seconds

Sarah was frantic. She was about to die and she wanted to respond to Chuck. To tell him how she felt about him. To let him know before they died. He deserved to know. But her dad's voice came to her again. ' _There's no such thing as love. It's not real. It's all a big con. You're smarter than that, honey. Don't fall into that trap_.' The same mantra he had repeated to her over and over again throughout her childhood, attempting to turn her into the ultimate conwoman. Fagin to her Oliver. But...it didn't work. Something inside of Sarah shifted, profoundly and irrevocably. In her head she screamed, "SHUT UP, DAD. YOU'RE AN IDIOT."

Aloud, she said, "I love you, Chuck." His eyes popped open and looked into hers. She glanced at the clock.

Three seconds

Looking back to Chuck, she repeated, "I love you." Squeezing his hands, she didn't look away or close her eyes, but stared into his with all the love in her heart. "I love you," she said again, quietly. Her lips twitched slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. This was it. In her last moments of life, she would be looking into the eyes of the first man she had ever loved, the only man she ever would love. Her Chuck. It felt right. She realized that their love was the only thing she had ever known that had any meaning at all. In that moment everything else in her life blew away like the meaningless chaff it was. Chuck was right, of course. This was all that mattered. It was incredible given their situation, but that clarity brought her a peace that she had never known.

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Casey spun through the open door of the building with his weapon in the ready position and saw Chuck and Sarah holding hands in front of the bomb. He saw the timer turn from "2" to "1" to "0". He stared hard at the zero, waiting. Moments later his shocked mind recognized that he was still alive, and, therefore, it wasn't a bomb.

There was a mechanical click from the large vessel followed by the container opening along the seam around its length. Chuck, Sarah and Casey all flinched at the noise, expecting something other than what had actually happened. A bright light came on and spilled out from the open crack of the container, along with vapor of some kind escaping with a hiss of released pressure.

Casey approached Chuck and Sarah who seemed stunned into immobility by what had just happened, which Casey considered perfectly understandable. "Not a bomb," he said, as he walked past them to the container.

"Yeah," said Chuck, never looking away from Sarah.

"Not a bomb," said Sarah, never looking away from Chuck.

Casey approached the now partially open container and grabbed the edge of the lid. He began to lift the heavy lid and said, "Need a hand here, Bartowski."

Chuck started like he was surprised to hear his own name and turned to Casey, "Oh, sorry." He grabbed the edge of the lid and together they opened it fully.

Inside, snug in a body shaped padded form was the unconscious body of rogue CIA agent Bryce Larkin wearing nothing but a pair of compression shorts.

"What the hell?" asked Chuck.

"Oh, my God," said Sarah.

"I killed him," said Casey, in a shocked whisper.

Larkin took a deep breath of cold air, startling them all.

"Not enough, I guess," said Chuck quietly.

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A/N2: So, in canon, the countdown was to measure oxygen in the container. It got to zero and nothing happened. So, Bryce did what? Held his breath until they opened the container hours later? Probably not. So, my container opened immediately once the oxygen ran out. Also, even with this technology being fictional, he would have at least an oxygen mask, an IV pumping him full of fluids and drugs, and a catheter to drain the fluids. Sort of ruins the visual, though, so I ignored that stuff.

A/N3: Here we go. The Bryce bomb has gone off. I've been planning that scene since Chapter 1 of New Day. Chuck's nemesis is back in play. Next up, the hospital interrogation. Let me know what you think, please. It's what makes this writing stuff fun.


	49. Chapter 49

A/N: Imagination is everything here, but not for a moment do I imagine that I own Chuck.

A/N2: Words set off between brackets are translations into English from the original Klingon.

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The Verrazano Bridge connects New York's boroughs of Staten Island and Brooklyn and for almost twenty years was the world's longest suspension bridge. The Brooklyn end of the bridge comes down near the US Army base of Fort Hamilton, home to, among other things, the Brooklyn Veterans Hospital. Underneath the Veteran's Hospital, about ten levels down, is the secret CIA medical facility where they took Bryce Larkin.

While waiting for a video conference with Directors Graham and Beckman to commence, Sarah and Amy were chatting quietly on one side of the conference room. Longshore, Casey and Chuck were chatting on the other side.

Amy was as excited and enthusiastic as usual, but, in contrast, Sarah was even more subdued than usual. Sarah's thoughts and feelings were very much in turmoil and her mind was awash in questions. Her rogue ex-partner was in custody. She couldn't even list all the questions she had for him. Why had he gone rogue? Where did his loyalty really lie? Why had he sent the Intersect to Chuck? Why had he blown it up afterwards? How was he alive? Where had he been? The questions went on and on.

But Sarah's feelings were also a mess. First and foremost, she now fully recognized that everyone had been right all along. She was in love with Chuck and she had told him so. And, of equal importance, she had told herself so. It made her happier than she had ever been. She wanted to skip around the room laughing and declaring it to the world. She wanted to go over there and hold his hands and stare at him. Just stare, probably with a goofy smile on her face. She would have expected to be frightened by this revelation, but she was not. Not even a little bit. Her father's voice in her head had been silenced.

But, as happy as she was, Bryce's reappearance was a damper on her joy. She was shocked and amazed that he was alive. Sure, she was happy about it. She had liked him, hell, she more than liked him, she once thought she had had real feelings for him. She now knew that she had been wrong about those feelings, but at the time that had not been the case. She was also incredibly angry at him, both for going rogue, but also for his treatment of Chuck. Getting Chuck expelled from Stanford and more recently for sending him the Intersect. Those feelings merged with fear for Bryce. She knew that as a rogue spy he might very well be handled by Graham swiftly and without mercy. Such treatment might be deserved, but would sadden her. She had cried at his funeral once already and didn't look forward to doing it again.

Amy said, "You certainly get lucky with partners, Sarah. Larkin is really cute."

"He went rogue and blew up a government facility, Amy. I did not get lucky."

"And then you get Chuck," Amy continued as if Sarah hadn't spoken. "A total superstar and super cute too."

Sarah said, "Forget Chuck, Amy. He's mine."

"I got it. You got dibs. That's just fine..." Amy caught sight of Sarah's face and her words dried up in her throat. She suddenly felt as if someone had poured cold water down the center of her back. All thoughts of flirting with Chuck evaporated. Once she had coaxed her throat to open up again, she said, "Right. I got it. He's yours. That's what I said. And that's great. I didn't expect it, is all. That's not the kind of thing you went in for in the old days. But it's great, though. Good for you," Amy said sincerely.

"You're right. It's not the kind of thing I used to do, but I'm doing it now," said Sarah. She was tempted to tell Amy that she still wasn't into that kind of thing, at least not the way Amy and Carina were. This wasn't "that kind of thing." This was entirely different. Chuck was the one. The one. She was tempted to tell Amy, but thought better of it. She didn't want to get into that here and now, and maybe not with Amy at all. Carina she could talk to about it, but maybe not Amy. Once maybe Zondra too, but not anymore.

"I got it. Maybe I'll take an interest in your other partner then. He's a hunk, if you like the quiet, uber-macho type." She had a mischievous sparkle in her eyes and her voice.

"Have at it, Amy. He's a good man," said Sarah with a smile.

There was a tone and the video conference began. The five agents arranged themselves before the screen.

Beckman and Graham came on together. "Good evening," said Graham. "Please report."

Longshore, the senior agent for the New York team, began. He had briefed Graham many times, but this was the first time he was briefing Beckman as well. "Good evening, Directors. When Agent Walker's team obtained the name of the ship transporting the package, we were unable to get the ship stopped and boarded at sea. As a fallback, as you know, we closed this section of the Port down. Once they arrived, Agents Walker and Carmicheal approached Demetrios and his men in an attempt to learn the number and location of the relevant container. Unfortunately, Stavros Demetrios from Los Angeles arrived unexpectedly and blew their covers. While being held at gunpoint, Carmicheal turned Yari Demetrios. I just have to say that it was a masterful job and Carmicheal's reputation is clearly very well deserved." Chuck looked a little embarrassed at that, but Casey and Sarah looked like proud parents. "Before Yari could identify the package a third party, presumably his customer, intervened and shot him. He died, but not before giving Carmichael the information to identify and locate the package. Carmicheal and Walker got to the package as the timer ran out. It was not a bomb or weapon. It was some kind of human transport case bringing rogue CIA agent Bryce Larkin, previously believed deceased, back to the United States. Larkin is now here in the CIA medical facility in Brooklyn undergoing examination. He has not yet regained consciousness."

"What was the timer for?" asked Graham.

"It was to measure the oxygen levels inside the case. When the O2 reaches a critical level the case opens to the outside air," said Longshore. "We expect whoever was going to come to pick up Larkin would have had an ambulance or similar vehicle in which to transport him from there. Had we known what to look for we might have spotted it."

"What about Demetrios' men?" asked Beckman.

"His son Stavros has disappeared. We are looking for him and confident we will apprehend him shortly. One of his men is dead and another wounded. The wounded man is being treated here. The others are in custody."

Chuck raised his hand. Graham said, "Yes, Chuck?"

"Apprehended for what? Stavros didn't do anything wrong, Sir. We don't even know that he knew what his dad was up to. If anything, he helped us with his dad and his dad's men."

"All good points, Chuck. But don't you think we ought to talk to him to make sure?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I just don't think he deserves to be treated like a bad guy," said Chuck.

"Ok," said Graham. "Noted. We'll make sure he isn't. Agents Longshore and Turner, thank you for your handling of this matter. This Larkin business had turned the mission on its head. Given the past histories, I'm going to let Agent Walker and her team take it from here. You are both dismissed with our thanks."

"Very well, Sir," said Longshore. He shook hands with Casey, Sarah and Chuck and headed out.

Amy gave Sarah a hug and said, "Keep in touch, Sarah." She gave little waves to both Chuck and Casey and said, "Nice meeting you both. See you again soon, I hope."

Once they were gone, Beckman said, "First of all, superb job as usual. You not only found the name of the ship, you turned Yari Demtrios and from that learned the number and location of the container with the package. Now on to the resultant part of the mission. Longshore and Turner are not cleared for the Intersect, which is why they could not have anything to do with the Larkin interrogation. Given that aspect of the situation, we are going to ask your team to handle it."

"Makes sense, Ma'am. Have we heard anything about his reappearance? Any chatter?" asked Casey.

"No, Major. We knew a time sensitive package was coming in to New York. Our analyst's conclusion that it was a weapon of some kind is obviously incorrect. We do not know who was to meet it, but it appears likely that the security presence at the Port scared them off. We know that it left from the Port of Helsinki, but cannot trace it back further than that. Whatever we can get about this entire situation will have to come from Larkin himself."

Graham said, "All three of you have history with Larkin. Two of you very significant histories. Will you be able to conduct an interrogation effectively without those histories clouding your judgment? Chuck, before you say it, I know full well you have no training in interrogation techniques and I have factored that into my question."

All three of them agreed that they could effectively interrogate Larkin.

"Very well, then. Good luck, Team."

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Larkin was still unconscious and there was nothing to be done but wait for him to wake. Chuck and Sarah lay in the small bed in an empty room in the hospital, trying to sleep. Both were fully dressed, in case they had to get moving quickly.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him, her head laying on his arm.

"I'm thinking that the most wonderful, brilliant, beautiful, talented, kind woman in the whole world is laying in my arms and...and ...this part I really can't believe, I'm so insanely lucky that this woman, the most wonderful in the whole wide world, she loves me. And I can't quite believe how I got this lucky. I'm waiting to be pinched awake."

She nuzzled him, snuggled closer and said, "Nope. Not a dream. And I'm the lucky one. You are just so fantastic in every way. And I do love you. I love you. I love you. I can't get over saying it. I've never said it before to anyone and I want to say it to you all the time now. It's crazy. I'm feeling almost silly. I want to giggle. I never giggle, Chuck. Never. If it weren't for Bryce this would be the happiest time of my life."

"Yeah," said Chuck in a more subdued tone. "Yeah. Bryce. I mean, I'm happy he's alive. I didn't want him dead. And I know now that he only got me thrown out of school to protect me..."

"Bullshit," said Sarah. "He doesn't get any breaks from me on that ground. Not a one. He treated you like shit and caused you a massive injury. I don't care what his motivation was. I don't want to hear that his heart was in the right place."

"I understand." Chuck sighed a little, quietly. "I feel bad for him, though. Sort of sad, I guess. I mean I know what he did and all, but it's tough to see him like this. He and I were good friends for four years. It's like when we were at his funeral, you know? I knew he had done me wrong and betrayed you, betrayed the country, but I was still sad he was dead. But you want to know something funny? Want to bet he ends up coming out of this whole thing smelling like roses? It's what he does. I was always stumbling around, but not him. He's always so cool and handsome. It's like he's coated in teflon, that guy. No matter what he pulls he gets away with it. Decent grades without studying. Always gets the girl. President of the frat. The whole thing. I tell you..."

Sarah had tensed up. She put a hand on his chest and rolled on top of him, her hair cascading down to enclose both their faces. Looking him in the eye she said, "Stop. Back up. You said he always gets the girl. Look at me, Charles Irving Bartowski. Not. This. Time. Not. This. Time. You got the girl. You got me. Hook, line and sinker. I am yours. Never anyone else's and certainly not Bryce's. Put that thought right out of your mind. I am yours and you are mine. Period. My history with Bryce is just that, history. I'm glad for it, glad I had it, because it allows me to put things in perspective. Now, with you, I know what a good, healthy, loving relationship is. My past relationship with him will forever serve as a counterpoint for me. Ok, Buster? Got it?"

Chuck smiled and kissed her gently, "Yes, Ma'am. I got it. Thank you. I may need a refresher on that every once in a while, though. My insecurities with him run pretty deep, but thank you."

"Any time you feel insecure in comparison to him, just talk to any of the people who love you. We will set you straight. Even Casey."

"Casey?"

"Absolutely. Although he may also call you 'Moron,'" she said, grinning.

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The doctor stood with them in a small observation room and watched Bryce through the one-way glass. He was sitting somewhat slumped forward in a medical chair. His legs were velcro'ed down to the chair with a wide strap and his wrists velcro'ed together behind him around the back of the chair. He was dressed in an open backed hospital gown. To one side was a small medical tray with various implements awaiting a doctor's attention.

The doctor said, "Physically his recovery is remarkable. He's lost muscle mass and is still weak, but otherwise he's made a very successful recovery. He's been conscious for about two hours now and wants to talk to someone named Chuck Bartowski. That's all he will say."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Sarah.

The doctor left, closing the door behind him. "Ok, Bartowski. Time for your first interrogation. Should be fun. He's a rogue CIA trained assassin," said Casey.

"Thanks, Case. Nice thought," said Chuck, with a grimace.

"Showtime," said Casey, waving his hand towards the door to the examination room.

"We'll be right here, Chuck. Just get him to talk. He's your friend. You're good at that. Just be a friend, not a spy," said Sarah.

"Ok, thanks. Here goes." said Chuck.

Chuck walked into the spartan examination room and heard the door hiss close behind him. Bryce was still slumped forward in his chair, head down, longish hair partially obscuring his face. Chuck took up a position against the wall near the door, leaning back, long legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest. It was not a posture that conveyed an impression of openness. He looked at Bryce without expression, silently.

Bryce twisted his head a little bit to the side and looked at Chuck out of the corner of his eye. "Who are you?" Chuck remained silent and expressionless. "Who are you? You're not Chuck. Who are you? What did you do with the real Chuck?"

Chuck stared at him a few moments more and then said, quietly, "You did this to yourself."

Bryce looked up, slightly startled. It was his turn to stare at Chuck silently. After a while, Chuck repeated, "'You did this to yourself.' Those were the last words you spoke to me before today. I don't know if you remember them, but I do. I was taking the last of my shit out of our room. You were playing pool downstairs with the guys. I asked you why you did what you did. Why you framed me for cheating and got me thrown out of school. And that's what you said. 'You did this to yourself.'" Chuck's voice was not angry or accusatory. It sounded sad.

Bryce held Chuck's gaze for a few more moments and then looked down and away. They stayed that way in silence for almost a minute.

Finally, Bryce said, "Hi, Chuck."

"Hi, Bryce. They say you want to talk to me."

They were quiet for a while longer. "Did you get my email?" asked Bryce finally.

"Jeez, Bryce. I get a lot of emails. Can you be more specific?" said Chuck. He wanted to get information from Bryce, not give it.

Bryce looked at him hard. Chuck did his best to keep his face neutral, his gaze steady. Bryce sighed and shook his head. "Chuck, come closer." He jerked his head to the side, indicating that he wanted Chuck closer.

"Naw. I'm sort of good here. Thanks."

"Chuck, they're listening," said Bryce with a little desperation in his voice.

"Yup. They sure are," Chuck said, nodding his head.

Bryce studied him for a few more moments, but Chuck didn't move. If the extended silences were making Chuck uncomfortable, he was hiding it well. Finally, Bryce said, "qaStaHvIS tlhIngan yIjatlh." [Talk in Klingon.]

Chuck wanted to smile, but withstood the temptation. "Oh, come on. You're kidding me, right?"

"Qo'" [No]

Chuck rolled his eyes and said, "Ok. qaStaH nuq SoH?" [Ok. What happened to you?]

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the observation room, "What the hell?" asked Casey.

Sarah was frowning severely. "I don't know."

"Is that a code?" asked Casey.

"No... It's a language," said Sarah. Clearly, she was uncomfortable with the development.

"Which one?" he asked.

"I have no idea," said Sarah, both baffled and a little annoyed. How could there be a language that was totally unknown to her, for God's sake. She'd have sworn she could at least identify every known language. What the hell?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"jIHvaD lughaj, Chuck" [They had me, Chuck.]

"chaH? laH latlh … cryptic? pong HInob? vay'?" [They? Could you be any more ...cryptic? Give me a name? Something?]

Clearly stressed, Bryce looked around the room like he was cornered. More time passed. "chaH Qob." [They are dangerous.]

Chuck shrugged. "Qob jup vIghaj." [I have some dangerous friends.]

They stopped talking for a little while. Bryce was frustrated by the way the conversation was going, but Chuck was in no hurry to move it along. As far as Chuck was concerned, time was on his side.

Bryce said, "vay' pagh 'e' vIvoq." [I can't trust anyone.]

"Bryce, jIHvaD DaH nobvam vay'?" [Bryce, does anyone include me?]

Bryce looked at Chuck hard. His eyes shifted to the mirror and then back to Chuck. Chuck nodded once, hoping to convey that Bryce could trust the people on the other side of the mirror.

"Tommy Delgado," said Bryce finally.

Chuck flashed. His eyes went out of focus and began to twitch. His facial muscles spasmed. A plane. Dead bodies. A bloody knife. A security brief entitled Fulcrum. A CIA info sheet with Fulcrum agents, all but Delgado redacted. Chuck said, "Fulcrum." He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror.

Bryce's eyes went wide. "You did it. You have the intel. You can access it...Holy shit. Is it always that fast?" Bryce began to smile with excitement. "I was right. I knew it. I knew you could do it. Yes." The last said triumphantly, as if accompanied by a fist pump.

"Tell me more, Bryce. Tell me about Fulcrum." Chuck was excited himself. He knew that the discovery of Fulcrum was a major step forward for them. He came off the wall and moved up to Bryce in his excitement. "Tell me about Fulcrum, Bryce. Are they the ones who had you? Did they save your life?"

As he came within arm's length of Bryce, Bryce said, "Sorry, Chuck," but he didn't sound too sorry. He snapped the velcro binding at his wrists and grabbed Chuck's shoulder with his left hand. With his right hand he grabbed the long-needled hypo from the side table and raised the point of the needle towards Chuck's neck. "Untie me or I'll kill you," he ordered in a harsh bark. His eyes turned to look at the door, braced for the heavies to come through and try to stop him.

Chuck's left forearm blocked Bryce's wrist, pushing the needle away from his neck. For all his supposed weakness, Bryce was still stronger than Chuck and it wasn't easy to do.

Chuck said, "Sorry, Bryce." He sounded sad again, like he actually was sorry. Bryce noticed a stinging feeling in his belly. Bryce looked down as his right arm lost strength and was steadily pushed away from Chuck's neck. There was a trank dart sticking out of his belly and a trank gun in Chuck's right hand.

The door to the room burst open and Sarah and Casey came in with guns drawn. Looking at Sarah, Bryce said, in confusion, "Sarah? What are you..." He passed out, falling back into the chair. The hypo fell to the floor with a clatter.

Casey said, "See? No worries, Walker. I told you the kid had it covered."

Chuck put the trank gun back in the pancake holster at the small of his back. He bent to pick up the hypo from the floor and put it back on the table. He moved slowly, like he was tired. He still looked sad.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Graham was on the video monitor. Beckman was not. "How did he free himself?"

"It seems he pried loose a lever on the medical chair he was sitting in and broke it. He then used a sharp edge from the break to partially saw through the velcro binding his wrists," said Casey, with a look that indicated professional admiration.

"Alright," said Graham. "What did he have to say before you put him down?"

"You'll have to ask Chuck, Sir. Chuck conducted the interrogation in a foreign language," said Casey with a smirk.

"A foreign language? Care to explain, Chuck?" asked Graham.

"Well, Bryce was concerned about who was listening to us talk. He didn't want them to understand. So, he insisted we speak in Klingon."

Sarah looked at him like he had grown a second head.

Graham said, "Klingon? You interrogated him in Klingon? KLINGON!?" Graham started to laugh, not a chuckle, but real belly shaking laughter that went on a while. As he calmed himself down, he said, shaking his head but still chuckling, "I love you guys. Fucking Klingon. Go on. What did he have to say?"

"He said 'they' had him." Chuck used air quotes for the word. "When I pressed him for a name he said Tommy Delgado," said Chuck.

"Oh, shit," said Graham, his humor evaporating. "Delgado...shit. This is worse than I thought. Go on."

"When he said the name I flashed on it and came up with the name Fulcrum. I think Fulcrum is the name of the cabal in the Intelligence Community that we've been circling. Zarnow. Mead. It matches something that Mead said to us just before he died. He said, 'the lever that moves this country to safety will turn on us.' That's a fulcrum. A lever turns on a fulcrum. I think that's the cabal that took Bryce and saved his life. I don't know why, how or where yet. And I don't know how, or even if, it's connected to his going rogue in March. Obviously, we'll have to continue this interrogation. He freed himself before he could answer any other questions and I had to trank him."

"Good work, as usual, Team. I agree. That makes sense. This is the first real lead we have on those assholes and now we have a couple of names. I'm going to have Larkin transferred overnight to a straight up detention facility. Doesn't sound like he needs the medical component where he is and the security is a higher level where he'll be going. I'm going to have to ask you three to stay in New York for the duration of the interrogation. We'll put you up at a safe house nearby.

"But tomorrow is Thanksgiving. My wife, Anna, and I would like to invite all three of you to share the day with us and our family at our home. We're just a few hours south on I-95." As he said the last part he was looking directly at Sarah. Something passed between them that neither Chuck nor Casey could quite put their fingers on.

Sarah said, "Thank you, Sir. That's a very kind invitation. I think, though, that to keep our covers intact, we should make the effort to return to Burbank for Thanksgiving with Chuck's sister. It would be quite odd for us to miss it. His friend Morgan and Morgan's new girlfriend will be there, so our absence would be notable."

Graham smiled. "I understand. Actually, I expected that answer. I've arranged for the Citation to be put at your disposal for the next few days. The crew will be just as happy, as they are LA based and will be able to be with their families tomorrow. You can all come back to New York on Friday and continue with Larkin. He'll be in serious lockdown by then. Safe flight and Happy Thanksgiving."

"Thank you, Sir. You too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N3: I'm lazy. Sorry. If there are any scholars of the Klingon language out there among the readers, you will no doubt notice that I made no effort to master Klingon and merely used an automated translation site I found online. Although, I do have The Klingon Dictionary on my bookshelf (as does Chuck).

A/N4: Thoughts? Concerns? Ideas? You know the drill. Always thrilled to hear from you.


	50. Chapter 50

A/N: If we all pool our spare pennies, do you think Warner Bros. would sell us Chuck?

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Bryce Larkin was thinking. Before he'd been tranked by Chuck – 'good one, buddy. I didn't see that coming,' he thought - he learned that Chuck had the Intersect and all its data in his head. Bryce's plan had worked. When Chuck heard the name Delgado, he had immediately connected him with Fulcrum, even if he hadn't known what Fulcrum was. The Intersect was working exactly as Bryce had hoped it would. And, even better, Sarah was with Chuck. He'd been confident that she would find Chuck. Who else would Graham send to track down the Intersect? The fact that Chuck had the Intersect and was with Sarah was proof that she was not Fulcrum. He had not been positive that he could trust her. He wanted to. They were a terrific team and he liked her a lot, but he didn't know for sure that he could trust her – until now. Casey, that trigger-happy asshole, would also be clear of Fulcrum involvement, as he had also been there with Chuck. So, that was all good. The plan he'd put into effect in September was coming together nicely even without his direct involvement. Except for Casey, it was all turning out exactly as he'd intended. And Casey wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Bryce didn't like him, but he would be a formidable ally.

Now the next thing he had to do was to get to Sarah and Chuck. He had to talk to her and bring her over to his side. She'd be angry with him at first, but she'd accept his explanation. She was in love with him, after all, and that would make her easier to handle. So, he had to find them. Once he brought Sarah and Chuck on-board, maybe with Casey too if it worked out that way, Bryce would have his dream team. He could take the fight directly to Fulcrum. He and Sarah had been the best team the CIA had running. With the addition of the Intersect they would be unbeatable. Chuck would go along with his plan. When Bryce explained the stakes and that the good guys needed him, Chuck would follow him. He might need some encouragement, but he'd do it. Chuck was too good a man not to try to help if he could. Bryce didn't doubt for a moment that Chuck would step up. His nature would demand it of him.

So.

His immediate concern was that he had to escape before Fulcrum got ahold of him. Fulcrum must have missed picking him up from the transport and clearly the non-Fulcrum part of the CIA had picked him up instead. Or maybe the NSA, given Casey's involvement. Anyway, the good guys. His problem was that he really couldn't tell the good guys from the bad guys. Until he knew otherwise, he had to assume that everyone was Fulcrum. The only spies he knew for sure he could trust were Sarah and Casey, because they had been vetted by Chuck and the Intersect. But Fulcrum would be trying to get to him urgently and he didn't have a lot of time.

Bryce was awake, but pretending otherwise from the hospital staff bustling around him. It allowed him to listen to their conversations. He learned that he was to be transferred to a detention facility from this medical facility immediately. He learned that traffic would be bad because of the holiday tomorrow. He learned that the holiday was Thanksgiving, so, from that, he could deduce that he was somewhere in the US. He had assumed the last part himself. They had gotten Chuck to see him within a couple of hours, so he thought it likely that he was being held somewhere in California. Now he knew where Chuck would be tomorrow. He'd be with his sister Ellie for Thanksgiving. No doubt about that. And Sarah would probably be with him, protecting the Intersect. It only made sense that Graham would assign Sarah to the crucial job of protection.

The perfect time to escape their custody was during the move between facilities. He would be outside fences and walls and only guarded by one or two men.

They didn't trust him with merely the velcro straps anymore, so he had handcuffs on each wrist connecting his arms to the side rails of the gurney he lay on. A nurse bent over him to check his breathing. She had a pen clipped to the pocket of her uniform. And then she didn't.

They threw a blanket over him as protection from the November cold and started to wheel his gurney down a corridor. The fluorescent lights seemed to flash like strobes as he was rolled through the facility.

He used his thumb to snap off the flat metal pocket clip from the pen that he had stolen from the nurse. The locking mechanism on a pair of handcuffs consisted of the ridged teeth on the movable semi-circle of the steel bracelet engaging with ridged teeth on the locking bar inside the stable mechanism of the cuff housing, the locking bar pushed into place with a spring. If you can keep the two sets of teeth from connecting with each other the cuff is open. A handcuff key moves the locking bar backwards against the spring's tension to disengage the teeth. Bryce slipped the thin piece of metal from the pen, which he was using as a shim, into the gap where the bracelet entered the housing. It slipped along the bracelet teeth until it caught the top edge of the locking bar. He pushed it past the tension of the spring, separating the two sets of teeth. Using one finger to keep the shim in place, he used his thumb to open the bracelet. Ok, right hand free. He was happy these were old cuffs, instead of the newer double lock cuffs, where this method of opening wouldn't have worked.

They got into the elevator and the door closed. This was a good time since there was only a single guard here to overcome. The guard was behind him at his head. Wrong position, thought Bryce. Bryce began to thrash on the gurney as if he was having a seizure. The guard tried to hold him down from his shoulders. That didn't work too well. He stepped to the side of the gurney so he could use one hand on the shoulders and one on Bryce's hips. With his now free right hand, Bryce grabbed the taser from the man's belt and tased the man into unconsciousness. Simultaneously, he used his toe to press the stop button, halting the elevator.

Taking the man's keys from his belt, he quickly found the handcuff key and opened the other cuff. Leaping off the gurney, he stripped the guard and put on the man's clothes. The still unconscious guard was put on the gurney and the elevator re-started. Bryce was unhappy, though. The man's shoes were at least two sizes too small and hurt his feet. He checked the man's side arm. It was a SIG Sauer P226, with a full clip and two spare magazines. He was glad to have it, but if he had to fire that weapon his escape would have gone totally to hell. When the elevator doors opened he made his way out to the parking lot to the waiting ambulance, the brim of the guard's cap pulled low to obscure his face. It was nighttime and colder than he thought it would be in California. The driver got out and came around the back to help move the gurney with the insensate guard into the back of the vehicle.

Bryce checked to make sure they were not on any security cameras and then tased the driver into unconsciousness. He put both men into the back of the ambulance. He climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot. Looking up, he saw the sparkling string of lights that illuminated the Verrazano Bridge. Ok. Brooklyn. Fort Hamilton. Not California. Dammit. Ok. Thinking hard for a few moments, he formed a plan. It was going to be close.

But he had to wonder, what was Chuck doing in New York the day before Thanksgiving? Well, that's not a question he could answer sitting in a stolen ambulance in Brooklyn. He'd have to ask him later.

He left the Fort and followed the signs onto the Belt Parkway, heading east toward Queens. He took the first exit he could, parking under an overpass to give more concealment, and went to the back of the ambulance. He began searching through the available drugs. He found what he was looking for and injected both men with sedatives to keep them out for a few hours. He carefully positioned them on their sides so that if they vomited from the drugs while unconscious, they would not aspirate and choke to death.

Getting back on the highway, he took the exit from the Belt Parkway towards Kennedy Airport and, once in the airport, entered the long term parking garage. It was pretty full with the cars of travelers away for the long holiday weekend, but he found a parking spot on one of the higher floors. Once in the spot, he used one of the two pairs of handcuffs to connect the drugged men to each other and to the ambulance itself, in case the drugs wore off before he expected them to. Then he took inventory of the ambulance and its contents. He found, and took, all the cash the men had (but left their credit cards), one driver's license (of the driver, who looked the most like him), better clothes, including shoes from the driver that fit better than the guard's had, a warm coat, a small bag of tools, some drugs, one man's lunch, the remaining pair of handcuffs, a flashlight, a map, and other assorted bits and pieces of gear that he thought might come in handy. He took the taser and the guard's pistol and spare magazines, but left the holster and belt in the ambulance. They were too conspicuous. He spent ten minutes with the needle nose pliers and the file of a multi-tool one of the men carried turning three heavy paper clips into an improvised tension wrench and lock picks.

He was in a bit of a quandary about how to leave the ambulance. If the exhaust system was leaky, he risked the men's health from carbon monoxide poisoning if he left the engine running and the heater on. If he didn't leave it running though, the temperature in the back of the ambulance might drop to dangerous levels. He made a choice that might be considered the worst of both choices. He wrapped both men in what blankets he could find and left the engine running with the heater on but the windows partially opened. By the time the gas tank was empty, they would know he was overdue at the detention center and would be looking for the ambulance's GPS tracker. They would find it quickly enough and the guard and driver wouldn't freeze.

He walked down two floors to where he had seen an almost twenty year old Honda, having spotted it as he made his way to the higher level. Older cars were easier to steal. Newer cars had electronic tags inside the key fob and, without it, stealing the newer car was quite difficult. If he had had the time, he'd have found a parking valet and stolen a car from there. Stealing a car was much easier when you could get the actual key.

He used the improvised lock picks he had made to open the door of the car. He jammed a screw driver from the tool bag hard into the ignition switch, hammering it in with the butt end of a wrench. Twisting the screw driver like a key, he tried to start the car. It didn't work. Dammit. That usually worked on the older Hondas. He took the plastic housing off the steering column and used the flashlight to see the wires. The red wires were from the battery and the brown from the starter. He put on the rubber medical gloves he had taken from the ambulance (to protect himself from electrical shocks), using the multi-tool he severed the power wires, stripped them of their insulation, and connected them to each other. That gave the car power to the lights. Next he severed and stripped the wires for the starter, being careful not to touch them carelessly to each other. Once stripped, he touched them together, starting the car. Using some medical tape he had found in the ambulance, he taped the exposed ends of the wires separately from each other, so as to avoid having live power wires hanging in his lap as he drove. The steering wheel was locked. He just defeated that with brute force, snapping the lock itself. The last thing he did was to break the dome light, so that he wouldn't be illuminated every time he opened the car door.

As he left the garage in his stolen car, he went thru the EZ Pass lane and paid for the parking automatically using the white box of the EZ Pass device behind the mirror. The gate opened and he didn't have to talk to the parking attendant. Keeping a stolen baseball cap down to partially obscure his face from the multitude of traffic cameras, he drove out of the airport. Once again, he found the Belt Parkway and headed east, further out on Long Island. He was heading in the wrong direction to his ultimate destination, but the transport he was looking for could be found that way. He ate the lunch he had taken as he drove. Unfortunately, the sandwich was liverwurst, not his favorite. The Belt Parkway quickly became the Southern State Parkway, as he left New York City for the suburbs of Nassau County. He stopped for gas and coffee, keeping the baseball cap low and conversation to a minimum. The road took him through Nassau County and into the more rural eastern end of Long Island, Suffolk County. He kept going.

He drove on thru the night. He was on Montauk Highway and it was not quite 2:00 am when he got to Lukfer Airport and Spadaro Airport. They were two adjacent airports near the town of East Moriches which were connected by a single taxiway, one with a grass strip and one with an asphalt strip. Each had planes parked on the side of the runways. If he had tried to travel by commercial aircraft, he would need money, credit cards and ID. He didn't have much money, and had neither of the other two, as the other man's license wouldn't pass muster for boarding a plane. In addition, using the credit cards of the guard or the driver would immediately be flagged by the people he was trying to avoid, which was why he had left them behind. Even if he wanted to take a train or bus, he'd need more money or credit and would have to deal with more people and avoid more security cameras.

On the other hand, private planes flown from uncontrolled airfields were hardly regulated at all. "Uncontrolled" meant that there was no control tower and almost certainly no one around in the middle of the night. Just a bunch of planes parked next to a perfectly usable empty runway. If you had the flight training, which Bryce did, you could easily steal a plane and fly wherever you wanted. Finding an uncontrolled field, though, required him to travel some distance from New York City, as all fields closer to the City were controlled, and therefore manned. Hence, the long drive in the wrong direction. He could have headed to New Jersey and found a field there, but that would have taken him past the choke points of bridges or tunnels with their cameras.

In any event, he had learned to fly in Connecticut and had flown a couple of times into these airfields just across the Long Island Sound.

He pulled the Honda up next to the chain link fence surrounding the fields, in an spot hidden by overgrown shrubbery. When they found the ambulance, which they had probably done by now, they would look at the video tapes from the gates at the parking garage and no doubt be looking for the stolen Honda. But the car was old enough that it lacked the GPS tracking systems most newer cars had. With luck it wouldn't be found for a while.

Climbing onto the roof of the car, he draped the rubber floor mats from the car over the three sagging strands of barbed wire at the top of the fence and climbed over, dropping lightly to the ground inside the field.

He began to look for a ride. He looked in the fuel tanks of several planes with his stolen flashlight before he found one that had full tanks. It was a Piper Cherokee low wing single engine aircraft. With full tanks it had twice the range that he needed to get where he was going. Ample margin for error. The lock on the cabin door was a simple wafer lock and easily defeated with his paper clip lock picks. He entered the plane. Although he had brought the tools to hot wire the ignition, as it turned out he was in luck and the ignition switch also succumbed to the lock picks. He started the plane, taxied onto the runway and left the field behind. He figured the owner might not notice the aircraft missing for several days. If the man had been ready to fly somewhere for Thanksgiving dinner, he'd probably have left already (at least that's what Bryce hoped). In any case, Bryce just needed the plane for a few hours.

Bryce immediately turned south to head to Washington DC, where he kept his apartment. He didn't have the navigational charts he would have liked, but he knew them well enough by memory to accomplish what he needed. When he got to the DC area, he would recognize the landmarks and be able to navigate from there, even at night.

He flew low enough and outside of any controlled airspace, staying out over the cold, dark waters of the Atlantic to avoid having to deal with any flight controllers. He kept the coast in sight though. Luckily, it was a calm, clear night and the lights of the eastern seaboard were visible for many miles. Flying at night over water in a single engine aircraft without a filed flight plan was quite risky, but compared to some of the other things Bryce had been up to lately, he felt incredibly safe for a change.

Every plane has a transponder, essentially a radio sending an identifying signal to the air traffic controllers. He left his transponder set to 1200, the code to be transmitted when the aircraft would not be using the services of the controllers. Turning off the transponder entirely would definitely raise red flags. Hopefully, he wouldn't come to the attention of any of the flight controllers in charge of the airspace he was flying through. He wanted to appear as boring as possible.

The hours and the miles passed quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As he approached Washington, he had to contact Air Traffic Control as he passed the Bay Bridge near Annapolis, but that couldn't be avoided unless he was content to land at a field further from the city. He had to balance the risk of being noticed at this quiet hour with the need to get to Burbank quickly.

He landed at Freeway Airport, in Maryland, also an uncontrolled field with no one around early on Thanksgiving morning. Freeway was only a few miles from DC. Tying down the plane, he had to search for almost a half hour before he could find a pay phone at the airport. He was incredibly frustrated with that delay, but with cell phones everywhere, pay phones were harder to come by. The sun had come up by the time he found the phone.

He used it to get a cab to take him to a shopping area in the Woodland neighborhood of DC. Once there, he went into the CVS drug store, luckily open early this Thanksgiving morning, and headed for the photo booth in back. Drawing the curtain closed, he fed his stolen money into the machine and allowed his picture to be taken several times. While behind the curtain he reached under the seat and removed a sealed plastic bag securely taped to the underside of the seat. Inside was a magnetic key card and the metal key to a padlock. There was no identification on either one, so, if found by a stranger, there was no way to use them to access the what the locks protected. There were three such caches of identical keys around Washington, but this was the one within walking distance of his next destination.

He walked to the building a half a mile away, tearing up his pictures from the photo machine and distributing the pieces in various trash cans on the way. He kept an eye out for anyone tailing him, although he considered that very unlikely. It was mostly habit. He entered the self storage facility building with his magnetic key. On the second floor was his six by six storage room, sealed with a padlock. He opened the lock and went inside, closing the door behind him.

This storage room was held in the identity of the man he would soon become. It was paid for annually a year in advance, in cash.

The first thing he did was to strip off all the stolen clothing and wipe himself down with baby wipes he kept in the room for exactly that purpose, shivering from the cold. Then he shaved and brushed his teeth, using water from bottles. He used dry shampoo on his hair and brushed it out. Next he dressed in a fine charcoal gray suit with a very subtle blue stripe, and a red silk tie. It was a very expensive suit, and fitted the identity he was assuming. The shoes he wore sparkled with a fine shine. He donned a stainless steel Rolex Submariner wristwatch and an expensive overcoat to cover his expensive suit.

This was an identity that he had manufactured and nurtured over the last three years. It was unknown to the CIA and other agencies of the Intelligence Community, and therefore, unknown to Fulcrum. He had identification, both a driver's license and a passport (quite expensive purchases actually), credit cards, $10,000 in cash, and a burner phone in need of a charge. The identity was tied to a commercial mail drop that used a street address (also paid for in advance in cash). Many mail drops were identifiable as such by the use of a box number as part of the address. Bryce had found one that avoided that characteristic, so the only way to know that it was just a drop was to physically visit the address.

He also had weapons, tools and other implements of spy gear, all contained in a suitcase at his feet. It had a false compartment to hide such items from prying eyes should the case be opened. He left the guard's SIG pistol in the room. He couldn't safely dispose of it where he was going and, in any event, he had a weapon of his own in his suitcase. He did drop the taser into the hidden compartment in the suitcase. He decided that it was a handy little gadget to have. He'd have to find a charger for it eventually.

Newly minted, he relocked the door with the padlock, walked out of the self-storage facility with his suitcase and a small carry-on briefcase and hailed a cab to Washington National Airport.

Once at the airport, he checked the board in the terminal to find a plane leaving for Los Angeles within the next two hours. Approaching the ticketing desk for that carrier, he gave a good smile to the attractive young lady behind the counter.

"Good morning and Happy Thanksgiving," he said.

As he had expected, the smile was working its usual magic and she smiled back, "And a Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Sir. What can I do for you this morning?"

"Well, it's a little embarrassing, but I have to get to Los Angeles immediately. I know it's last minute, and the holiday and all, but can I get a First Class ticket on the flight that leaves at 9:15?" He put a platinum credit card on the counter.

She turned to look at the computer and began to type, "Why is that embarrassing?"

"Because my mother is making me do it," he said, trying to look a little embarrassed.

The young woman looked up at him and laughed softly, "Your mother?"

"Yeah. I was going to have Thanksgiving with my girlfriend's family, but she dumped me at the last minute. My mom, in California, threw a fit that I was going to have Thanksgiving dinner by myself in my apartment, so she insisted that I come to see her. To be honest, I'm sort of grateful to her for insisting. I wasn't looking forward to being alone for the holiday."

"I think that's so sweet...," she glanced at his credit card on the counter in front of her, "Mr. Caffrey. I think your mom is right."

"Well, I know it won't be easy to get onto the flight. But if I wait for the next one, I won't land in time for dinner with Mom."

"Well, let's see what I can do, Mr. Caffrey," she smiled at him again and looked back to the computer.

Looking at her name tag, he deployed the smile he used for closing deals, "Would you get in trouble if you called me 'Neal', Allyson?"

Twenty minutes later he made his way through security without his suitcase. He had had to check it. Although the hidden compartment was very well done, it wouldn't make it through the x-rays for carry-on luggage. On the other side of security, by the gate, he plugged in the phone to charge it and threw Allyson's cell phone number in the trash.

The plane boarded on time and he settled himself down into the wide comfortable seat in the First Class cabin, crossing his legs. A pretty stewardess approached. He gave her the smile and said, "Would it be possible to get a glass of champagne, please?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Getting off the plane at LAX, Bryce collected his bag and went into a men's room. In a stall he disbursed on his person all of the weapons and tools which he could not carry with him into the plane's cabin and had to stow underneath. Bullet proof vest. Holster. Weapon. Throwing knives. Escape keys and blades. Multiple lock picks and shims. Penlight. Compass. The collection of gear was extensive, but he needed to be fully outfitted. He was on the run from both the Intelligence Community and Fulcrum. A healthy dose of paranoia was only prudent.

Mr. Neal Caffrey had reserved a rental car from the plane. Collecting it, he used the GPS to guide him to Echo Park, luckily not too long a drive from the airport. Everyone must have been settled down for their dinners and the notorious LA traffic was blessedly light.

Once at the complex, he kept to the shadows. Looking in the windows of the apartments, he easily found the Bartowskis. At the table for Thanksgiving dinner were Ellie, a big blond man who seemed to be with Ellie, John Casey, dressed in a nice suit, Chuck, sitting with Sarah, who looked as happy and as lovely as he had ever seen her, Chuck's little friend Martin, who he had met while with Chuck at Stanford, and an attractive brunette woman Bryce assumed to be with Martin.

OK. He had to arrange to talk to Sarah. Seeing her brought back in full force his desire for her. He ached with the need to take her in his arms again, to feel her body moving under his again. If he could just explain to her what was going on, with Chuck's help she would help him figure out a plan to get him to the non-Fulcrum part of the CIA. If he could only work with them both, it would all be ok. He could get Chuck and Sarah and him and together they could take on Fulcrum. He and Sarah would be a couple again, the Andersons, and he'd have his best friend, his only friend, as his wingman with the Intersect. Fulcrum wouldn't stand a chance. Despite the grim life of a spy, he, no they, could accomplish something great.

He would wait here in the shadows until their dinner ended and she left to go home. He could surprise her and go back with her to her place. Once he had explained everything to her, what was between them would all go back to just the way it had been before he had been forced to leave.

He smiled to himself, happy for the first time since March. This was all going to work out just the way he intended. Perfect.

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A/N2: As usual, the descriptions here are pretty accurate if you want to use this as a blueprint to go on the lam. But, if you have all the skills necessary to accomplish what Bryce did, you're probably already a spy. I can't be the only person who wondered what the story was with Bryce. He escaped the CIA facility barefoot and in pajamas and showed up at Echo Park a few hours later fully dressed and with a weapon and bulletproof vest. I thought that deserved some kind of explanation.

A/N3: I know. I know. An entire chapter of Bryce. Yeah. Well, I won't do that again for a while. Next up, Bryce gets to talk to Sarah alone in Chuck's room. Anybody think it's going to be canony? Love to hear your predictions. And a very sincere thank you to all of you who have been following along and responding to me. That's what makes this stuff fun.


	51. Chapter 51

A/N: I don't even own my own car, why would anyone think I could own Chuck?

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Lou said, "No, seriously. The brussel sprouts are delish. What did you do, Ellie?"

"Oh, you can't believe how easy it is. Roast them with maple syrup and then throw in toasted hazelnuts. Super easy."

"How much maple syrup?"

"A couple of glugs," said Ellie.

"What's a glug?" asked Morgan.

"You know," Ellie pantomimed pouring from a bottle and said, "Glug...glug...glug."

Everyone laughed, even Casey. He wouldn't have admitted it even under torture, but the truth was he really enjoyed this company, these people, this family.

His day had gradually been improving. Waking up to the news that that prick Larkin had escaped during transport to the detention facility wasn't a great start to the day. The son of a bitch was probably lost in the wind again, as he had been for the six months between going rogue and blowing up the Intersect. Well, figured Casey, somebody would cap his sorry ass eventually. No longer his problem, but he did hope he would get the chance to shoot him again. He'd aim for the head the next time.

It had gotten better from there. On the CIA plane back from New York, Walker had sought him out.

Perching her tush on the edge of the empty chair next to him, she said, "Case...when ...when we thought Bryce was a bomb, I thought I was going to die. I thought that was it, you know? I realized something. Something you were the first one to see. I do love Chuck. You were right. I love him like crazy."

Casey had grunted softly and said, "I wasn't the first one to see it, Sarah. Everyone who was at Union Station saw the same thing I did. I was just the first one to say it to you."

Sarah smiled, a little embarrassed, "No..."

"Yeah. Hell, I think Andric saw it and he was unconscious at the time," he smiled at her.

She swatted his arm and leaned forward to give him a little kiss on the cheek, "Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't mention it. No, I'm serious. Don't mention it," he said, sternly.

She left him alone and went back to her seat near Chuck, chuckling. Casey was pleased that she had finally gotten her head straight on the matter. It was about time.

Then he got home to Echo Park and began to cook the pies for that night's dinner, always a calming routine.

As he was putting on his tie for dinner, he heard a loud Ellie squeal all the way from the Bartowski apartment. He had smiled to himself, knowing that Sarah had just shared the good news with Ellie. That Ellie was one impressive lady, he thought. She'd make a great Marine.

"John, would you like more wine?" asked Ellie, with an extended wine bottle in her hand. Casey was jerked back to the present.

"Yes, thanks," he held out his empty wine glass and Ellie filled it with a full-bodied Cabernet from Francis Ford Coppola's winery, a gift to Ellie from Lou. "Good wine, Lou," said Casey.

"Yeah, it's yummy," said Lou.

Sarah said, "And don't forget the eggplant she made. That's great too."

Lou said, "Well, you told me you liked it, so I thought that would be a good side dish to bring."

"It's awesome, Lou," said Devon, "and let's not forget the Sweeney Potatoes that Morgan made. Those are great too."

"Totally. My boyfriend is a good cook," she said, giving his arm a little squeeze. "I would be having thirds of those, but I'm saving room for John's pies," said Lou.

Ellie said, "They won't disappoint. Apple and pecan. Soooo good."

"Hope so. They're warming in my oven. I'll bring them over as soon as we're ready. Chuck, did you get the cheddar cheese I suggested? It's great with the apple pie. Nice combo of sharp and sweet."

"Damn. I did, but I left it in the car. I'll be right back," Chuck said as he stood up.

Ellie said, "We'll start clearing in a minute."

"I'll be back in a jiffy," said Chuck, leaving the apartment.

He passed by the fountain on his way to the Nerd Herder, but...

Something wasn't right, thought Chuck. What was it? He stopped just past the fountain and looked around frowning. There. That shadow had the wrong shape. He started to turn to head back inside and alert Casey and Sarah that there was someone lurking in the courtyard.

"Hello, Chuck," said Bryce, stepping out of the shadows. He was well dressed and his hands were empty.

Chuck was surprised. Bryce should be halfway around the world by now. What in God's name was he doing here in Burbank? Coming to the very man who had tranked him last night?

"What are you doing here, Bryce? Come to kill me, maybe? After all, you threatened to do that only.." Chuck turned his wrist and moved his sleeve up so he could glance at his watch, "... twenty hours ago."

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At the dinner table, Sarah and Casey became tense at the same time and the smiles left their faces. They looked up at each other and held the gaze. Casey pushed his chair back and laid a hand on the table, preparing to stand. Without letting her hand leave the table, Sarah raised a palm up slightly, telling him to hold on and wait. He nodded once, but didn't take his eyes from her's.

Morgan, Lou and Devon didn't notice the non-verbal exchange.

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"Of course not, Chuck. You know I wouldn't hurt you."

"Gotta be honest, Bryce. I don't know that at all. I don't think I know you anymore. What the hell, dude?"

"Is this your place?" asked Bryce.

"You really have to ask that? I mean, isn't that why you are here? It's not like you randomly stopped someplace on your way to China or wherever the hell you were going, right?"

"Yeah, you're right. I came looking for you. For you and Sarah."

"What do you want, Bryce?"

"I need to talk to Sarah. Can you bring her to me? Without Casey."

"Why would I want to help you?"

"Because of Fulcrum. They are after the Intersect. They are after you," Bryce lied.

"Well, then. Thanks for putting a bullseye on my back, buddy. I know I can always count on you," said Chuck.

"It's not like that, I..."

Chuck sighed, but he had come up with a plan. "You know what, Bryce? You want to talk to Sarah. Fine. Let's do that. See that window?" Chuck pointed. "It's open. Head in there and wait for her. I'll send her in to talk to you. Be patient. It may take a few minutes."

Bryce clapped Chuck on the shoulder and said, with a smile, "Thanks. I knew I could count on you."

Chuck watched him disappear through the window and said aloud, "Be there in a minute." He went into Casey's apartment. There was a wall of weapons which opened with a handprint scanner disguised as a picture of a sailboat. Chuck put his right hand on the picture and the wall opened. Chuck took two weapons, checked them quickly and tucked them under his shirt. He closed the wall and left Casey's apartment.

He ran quickly to the car and collected the cheddar cheese.

Reentering his apartment, he saw them clearing the plates from Thanksgiving dinner. He gave a nod to Sarah, who nodded back. Looking at Casey, he gestured with his head toward the kitchen. Casey joined him there. When they were alone, he pulled the weapon from his belt and handed it to Casey.

"I'll stay in the hallway. You in the courtyard. That way, whichever way he tries to leave, one of us can take him," said Chuck.

"A trank gun? Forget it, Bartowski. You go the non-lethal route if you want. I'm going to kill the bastard."

"Oh, yeah. Cause that worked out so well the last time. Come on, Case. Don't you want to hear what he has to say?"

Casey thought for a moment and said, "Ok. Good point." He took the trank gun from Chuck and tucked it under his jacket. "Shoot for the face. He might be wearing a vest."

"But what if you shoot him in the eye?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah. Don't do that. The drug would be confined to the eyeball and wouldn't get into the bloodstream," replied Casey.

"No, Case. I meant you might blind him," said Chuck, a little grossed out by Casey's warning.

"Hummm. Oh, yeah. That too," said Casey with a shrug.

Casey announced that he was going to go get the pies.

"Take your time, John. We can let the rest of the meal digest for a while. We'll wait for you," Ellie said with a smile.

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In the hallway in front of his room, Chuck reached behind Sarah and touched her weapon at her back, just to reassure himself that she was armed. He whispered, "Be careful in there."

Sarah whispered, "I will." She gave him a quick kiss.

Sarah walked into the room, but there was no sign of Bryce. He stepped out of the closet behind her.

"You're getting rusty," he said to her.

"Bryce, I have a gun. Do I need to use it?"

"I'm unarmed," he lied. "And I'm sorry."

"Why shouldn't I arrest you right now?"

"Because I'm not a rogue spy. Because the Intersect was a mission. Because, Sarah, you're still in love with me." He stepped forward and took her in his arms and kissed her.

She was so shocked she just stood there for a second or two, her hands resting on his shoulders.

Chuck, outside the door to the bedroom, thought, "Uh, oh."

Her mind rebooted and clicked into gear with her body. She shoved him backwards with surprising power. He stumbled a bit as he tried to regain his balance. She stepped forward quickly, before he had recovered, and slapped him viciously across his face. In a harsh whisper, she said, "Get your fucking hands off me, you goddamn animal. What the fuck is the matter with you? Don't you ever fucking touch me again. You think you can just waltz back in here after everything that's happened? That everything is going to be the same as it was? You fucking moron, things don't work that way. I am so past you...and I never loved you, you asshole. Goddammit...I loved you?" The last phrase said with disbelief. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Jesus, you are such an asshole."

Bryce was rubbing his cheek where she had slapped him. This wasn't going at all how he had planned. He took a deep breath and said, "Ok. I get it. You're mad. I get it. I can explain though. I know things won't go back to normal right away, but when you hear what I have to say, you'll forgive me. Then we can be together again, Sarah. The Andersons."

"Together? You don't get it do you? I'm not going to be with you anymore. Ever. I'm with Chuck now. He's my guy."

"Well, that makes sense," he said placatingly. "He's the Intersect and you would have to protect him. Girlfriend is a great cover for a protection..."

"No, not a cover. For real. He's my real boyfriend. I love him and he loves me. For real."

Bryce was in shock and could scarcely believe what he was hearing from Sarah. Sarah Walker was in love with Chuck Bartowski? "What? For real? With Chuck? No way..."

Bryce thought she had been angry before, but at his assumed dismissal of Chuck, she went thermonuclear. He didn't think he had ever seen someone this mad. She was red in the face, had her fists clenched, and was trembling with rage. She stepped forward as if she was stalking prey. He stared at her wide eyed in astonishment. Unconsciously, he took a step or two backwards and raised his hands in defense.

"WHAT? YOU'RE SURPRISED? YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT, BRYCE. CHUCK IS A BETTER BOYFRIEND THAN YOU EVER WERE. HE'S A BETTER PARTNER THAN YOU. FUCK. YOU ASSHOLE, HE'S JUST A BETTER MAN THAN YOU ARE. A MUCH, MUCH BETTER MAN. AND I LOVE HIM. HE'S MY GUY. HE'S MY CHUCK." She was screaming at him in a harsh whisper.

He moved his raised hands defensively and said, "Whoa, whoa. I didn't say otherwise..."

She said, breathing heavily but in a marginally less furious tone, "You underestimated him, didn't you?"

Bryce looked at her and shook his head softly, still trying to digest what he'd just heard. He said, "No. Actually, I didn't. I might be one of the few people who never did. But I underestimated you, Sarah. I underestimated you."

They heard Morgan yelling, "Hey, Chuck. Sarah. Stop making out. Come on back. We have a table to clear." The voice was laughing and coming closer.

They heard Ellie say sharply, "No, Morgan. Stay here. Let them be. They'll be back soon enough."

Bryce looked up with urgency. "Look, we really have to talk. About business, not...us." He moved to the window. "I'll talk to you after dinner, when we won't be interrupted. I'll be outside. Please. You have to hear what I have to say."

Bryce climbed out the window. Sarah heard the hiss of a trank gun, and thought she heard Bryce's voice murmur disgustedly, "Awww, not again." Then there was a soft thud as his body hit the ground.

Casey's voice came into their ears, "Got him. This day has just been getting better and better."

"Good," said Sarah with satisfaction, leaving the room to head back to dinner.

In the hallway, Chuck asked her "Can I get you your wine?"

She was still breathing through her nose like she had run a race, her hands shaking a little bit. "No...vodka...after I brush my teeth," she stormed down the hallway towards the bathroom.

He said, "Case, you need help carrying Bryce?"

"Naw, I got this, kid. You help clear the table for dessert. I'll come back with the pies."

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Chuck was finishing a second slice of Casey's excellent pecan pie and contemplating having some more of the apple pie for breakfast tomorrow morning. Casey had been right about the apple pie with cheddar cheese, it was a great combination.

But he knew they should really go deal with Bryce. Once Morgan and Lou had left for the evening, they excused themselves and went to Casey's apartment.

Bryce was laid out on a table, his arms and legs handcuffed to its four legs. He had duct tape over his eyes and mouth. His hands were covered with clingy plastic wrap, so he couldn't use his fingers. He had been stripped to his shorts.

His clothes were draped over a nearby chair. On the counter next to him was a pile of weapons and spy gear Casey had taken from him. Weapon, vest, knives, handcuff keys, assorted gadgets and tools.

Casey said, "He was loaded for bear. He even had a handcuff key glued into his hair." Casey gestured to Bryce and, speaking to Sarah, said, "Give him a check. You'll know what to look for."

She nodded.

Chuck looked at the pile of gear on the counter. He wrinkled his nose with distaste when he saw a bloody bandage among the items. He looked up and down Bryce's body but didn't see a wound on him. Many scars, but no wound.

Casey saw his expression and said, "Gross, right? You don't want to touch it, huh?" Casey flipped the bandage over to show Chuck the underside. Glued underneath were a handcuff key and a razor blade. "Yeah, that's just what he was counting on."

Sarah was studying Bryce's nearly naked body dispassionately. Eventually, she reached out and, with a fingernail, began to scrape at the bottom edge of a particularly large scar on the outside of Bryce's thigh. To Chuck's astonishment, the scar came loose from the skin beneath it. When she had dislodged enough of the scar to grab, she took it in two fingers and peeled it off. Glued to the underside of the fake scar was a handcuff key, a tension wrench, and two lock picks with differently shaped heads. She dropped it onto the pile of gear Casey had already taken off Bryce.

She said, "The other scars I can see are real."

"Ok. I'll call it in now," said Casey. "Let this asshole get tucked in someplace safe. Looks like we won't have to go to New York for the interrogation. We can do it right from home."

"Case, before you call it in, maybe we should hear what he has to say," said Chuck.

"We will. When he's safely in a cell someplace," said Casey.

Bryce made a negative noise through his taped mouth and shook his head no. Chuck said, "I tranked him last night, and he still sought us out, guys. He could have been in the wind, like he was since March, halfway to China by now, but instead he came here to talk to us. Maybe we should hear what he has to say before we drop him in a cell. Can't hurt. He told Sarah he wasn't rogue. He said we have to hear what he had to tell us." Casey made a scoffing noise. "I'm just saying that maybe we should listen to him. There's some reason he escaped from the CIA and then came directly to us."

"Chuck's right, Case. It can't hurt to listen," said Sarah. Bryce made an affirmative noise through his nose and nodded his head.

"Ok," he said, "but then we call it in." He reached out to rip the tape from Bryce's mouth.

"Hold on a second, Case. There's something I want to do first." She reached out and ripped the tape from Bryce's eyes, taking some of his eyebrow hair with it. He winced and blinked in the sudden light. After a moment his eyes focused on them.

She said, looking at Bryce, "Ok. Case, turn around."

Casey saw the look in her eyes and knew what she had in mind. He said, "Naw. I'm going to take off my suit. Call me when I can come back." Humor sparkled in his eyes.

She smiled a tiny smile and said, never taking her eyes off Bryce, "Will do." Once he left, she reached for Chuck and said, "Come here."

He stepped towards her, not really too sure what was happening. That's when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. The kiss, well actually a long series of kisses, was as passionate as they had ever shared. At first Chuck was uncomfortable, knowing Bryce was there and watching. Then he forgot that Bryce was in the room. Then he forgot his name. Then he forgot to breath. Eventually, she broke the kiss. She also seemed a little discombobulated and stared into his eyes for a few moments before saying, "I love you."

Nuzzling her a little, he said, "I love you too."

She called out, "Ok, Case. It's safe to come back."

Bryce was staring at her, at them both, with wide eyes. He clearly understood her message to him. Any hope he'd had for a resumption of his relationship with Sarah withered and died. Whether it would stay dead was another question entirely, of course.

Casey came back and they ripped the tape from Bryce's mouth. Bryce said, "Thanks. Listen, can I get up and have this conversation with pants on?"

"No," Sarah and Casey said at the same time.

"Ok. Ok. I'm not a rogue spy. The Intersect was a mission. I was recruited by an outfit called Fulcrum. A special access group inside the CIA. They knew who I was. My activation codes, my record. They ordered me to shed by Agency contacts and go deep. Only then did I realize it was an internal strike, to download and destroy the Intersect. Fulcrum had plans for its intel."

"Why should we trust you, Bryce?" asked Sarah.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Sarah. I didn't know who to trust."

"Why Chuck?" she asked.

"Yeah, why Chuck?" asked Chuck

"I needed a friend who wasn't a spy. Who wouldn't know anything about Fulcrum or the Intersect or Sand Wall."

Chuck flashed on the words 'Sand Wall'. File cabinets. Fulcrum. Top Secret briefing memoranda. Sand Wall. The mission to infiltrate the Intersect facility. They had all seen him flash and waited to see what he had to say, "I just flashed on Sand Wall. That was the name of the Intersect mission. Well, looks like you're telling the truth about that part, anyway."

"It's all true, Chuck. I'm not rogue."

"How are you alive?" asked Casey.

"I don't know how they did it, if that's what you're asking. They used one of the European clinics probably. Scandinavia or Russia. I don't know for sure."

"But you know why they did it," said Sarah.

"Yeah," said Bryce.

"Well should we pop some popcorn or can I just beat the answer out of you?" asked Casey.

"No. I'll talk," said Bryce, with a bit of a sneer.

"Damn it," said Casey.

"You know the first part already. I downloaded the Intersect intel and blew up the computer. Raced out of the facility and then I ran into you, Casey. You shot me. I'm on the ground. No white light, just you staring down at me. And then things went black. But then I was brought back. I was in an ambulance, I think. They weren't trying to save me. This was a Fulcrum team. They wanted something. Delgado was there. He asked me where the Intersect files were. He threatened to let me die again. I told him I saw them. That I saw the files. I told him they were in me. I told them I was the Intersect."

"They think you are the Intersect?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah. That's why I need your help."

"We're gonna help you?" asked Casey with disbelief.

"I need to turn myself into the CIA. But Fulcrum has operatives everywhere. In every agency."

"You just escaped from the CIA, asshole. Now you want to turn yourself in? What the fuck?" said Casey.

"That's the thing, Casey. Fulcrum is everywhere. I'm sure they were trying to get to me in Brooklyn. I wasn't safe there. I need to know that I'm being handed over to the real CIA, not Fulcrum operatives. That's why I came to you, to all three of you. You are the only two agents I know for sure are not Fulcrum. You've been vetted by Chuck, by the Intersect. That's why I need Chuck. He can identify Fulcrum agents. If he flashes on the agents that come to get me, we'll know they're Fulcrum," said Bryce.

"Nope, sorry, buddy," said Chuck

"Chuck, I need your help," said Bryce in a wheedling tone. "Please. You're the only one who can do this."

"I'd be happy to help you get to the 'real' CIA," Chuck said with air quotes. "The problem is that you don't know how the Intersect works. Or doesn't work, actually. You've been assuming that I can identify Fulcrum agents on sight. I can't. The flashes of intel I get are essentially random. I'm practically living with Casey and I haven't flashed on him once. We ran into a Fulcrum guy just a few weeks ago. I never flashed on him either. There's no rhyme or reason as to when I will and won't flash. And no comfort to be had that whoever we turn you over to is or is not Fulcrum. No good, Bryce. The Intersect just doesn't work that well. We need a different plan."

"Well, it seems to me that you need to talk to Graham," said Sarah. "We can trust him and he has to hear your story."

"Ok," said Bryce. "But I can't get to him safely. That's the problem."

"Leave that to me," said Sarah.

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Graham sat on a chair in the kitchen, his two year old granddaughter on his lap. He was making faces at her to make her laugh. His wife Anna was sitting on the kitchen floor, helping their seven year old grandson make a pirate ship out of Legos. It was way past the children's bedtime, but dinner had run late and their parents didn't seem to mind. His son Kevin, his daughter Karen, and Kevin's wife Michelle (called Mickey by everyone who knew her) were across the room doing the dishes from Thanksgiving dinner. Graham had eaten more than he should have, especially the second slice of pie _with_ the ice cream, and was in a bit of a food coma. More time on the treadmill tomorrow, he thought.

He had three cell phones on the kitchen table next to him. One of them began to ring. He was surprised. Only four people in the world had that number, one was sitting at his feet, two were doing dishes, and the other one...

He picked up the phone and said, "Sarah?"

"Hi," she said.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm sorry to use this number, but when you hear what I have to say you'll understand why I didn't want to use your normal phones."

"Ok."

"Bryce Larkin is here in Burbank with me and my team."

"Sh...ugar. What's up?" he asked, handing his granddaughter to his wife.

"He's got a story to tell about Fulcrum. Chuck flashed and confirmed at least a part of the story. Bryce says he bolted from Brooklyn because Fulcrum's infiltration is so pervasive that he couldn't trust anyone and couldn't safely remain in custody. I think you will want to hear this yourself. Can you come out here tomorrow? If what he says is right it's probably not safe to move him around too much." Graham had walked into the empty dining room from the kitchen while Sarah explained.

"It's that bad, huh?" he asked.

"Maybe. I haven't heard it all yet, but maybe. That's why I want you to hear it yourself...in person,"

"Ok. I'll be there in the morning your time. If I leave here at the crack of dawn I ought to get to you around 10 or 11. I'll let Beckman know."

"Good. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Sarah. Be careful. I know you were close to him, but Larkin has still got to be considered a rogue agent until proven otherwise."

"I will be. Good night. Love to...to the family."

"Right. G'night, Sarah." He disconnected the call.

He sighed. So much for the treadmill.

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A/N2: Come on, now. None of you who've been with me for a while believed the Bryce/Sarah conversation in Chuck's room was going to go remotely like canon. What did you think? Commentary? Always happy to hear from you all. Coming up is an interlude before Graham arrives in Burbank. Each of our friends gets to spend some time alone with Agent Larkin. Wonder what they will have to say?


	52. Chapter 52

A/N: Disclaimer. Need I say more?

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"Ok," Sarah said. "Graham is on his way. He'll be here late morning. So, we wait."

"Guys," said Bryce, "can I get up and put on some pants now? I mean, you trust me enough to call Graham..."

"No," Sarah and Casey said at the same time.

"Don't mistake the fact that we called Graham to hear your story to mean that we trust you. We still don't," continued Sarah.

Bryce sighed and said, "What if I have to pee?"

"Too bad," said Casey. "Go ahead and pee. I'll mop it up later."

Bryce looked unhappy at that prospect.

Sarah said, "Best that we guard him all night, but there's no need for all of us to stay awake. We can take shifts."

"Sounds good," said Casey.

"I'll take the first shift. Want to relieve me in about three hours, Casey?" asked Sarah.

"Sure."

Chuck kissed her and said, "Ok, sweetie. I'll see you in a few hours. Be safe."

"Yup. Keep the bed warm."

"Will do. See you later, Case."

"Later, kid."

"G'night, Bryce," said Chuck from the door.

"G'night, buddy," said Bryce from the table.

Chuck left.

"Case, set the motion detector alarms in the courtyard and set the cameras on infrared, please. If he left a trail for Fulcrum to follow..." said Sarah.

"I didn't. I was..." said Bryce.

"Shut up, Larkin. You're not nearly as smart as you think you are. We took you down with no trouble at all. You didn't even interrupt dinner." Bryce nodded and shrugged to indicate that he recognized the truth of that statement. "I'll do that, Walker. It's a good idea. We don't want any uninvited guests to surprise us. The feed on the TV will be live," said Casey. He set the systems accordingly and the TV began to display an infrared picture of the courtyard in front of the apartment. If there was any movement outside, it would sound a tone.

"Night, Walker."

"Night, Case." Casey left the room, leaving Sarah and Bryce alone together.

Bryce said, "Look, I'm sorry for being presumptuous before. In the bedroom, I mean. About our relationship. It's just that what we had was really special to me. I really thought there was something there, you know? Something more than just great sex." He didn't see her roll her eyes. "I thought we had real feelings for each other. But I understand. You love Chuck more than you loved me. I understand..."

"No, you don't. You don't understand. I might have had feelings for you, but that characterization..." She took a deep breath and thought about how to describe what she wanted to tell him. She wasn't good at this, at talking about her feelings. "Listen, I don't blame you for not understanding. It's only recently that I understood myself." She paused for a little while. "Here's the thing. We were on a mission and this woman...a very beautiful woman...tried to teach Chuck how to tango. He told me about it and I wanted to rip her in half. I was so totally pissed off you can't believe it. And just because she was trying to teach him to dance. I know it's silly and I was acting like a jealous school girl, but that's how I felt."

"Ok," said Bryce.

"Later, Fleming, from Stanford, went missing. Graham sent us to find him. Long story, but it involves your friend Candy Reynolds. We met up with her and she helped us. Bryce, she told me that you visited her on Valentine's Day. We were a couple then, you and I, and instead of being with me on Valentine's Day you were with your favorite prostitute ..."

Bryce looked very uncomfortable, squirming a little. "Sarah, I can explain. She was an asset. That's all. I didn't feel anything for her. It was just..."

"I know," she said impatiently. "Hell, I told Chuck that's what you were thinking. I know exactly how you were thinking about it."

"So, then what is it?" he asked, honestly confused by the direction she was taking the conversation.

"Bryce, here's the thing. I didn't care. That other woman tried to teach Chuck to tango and I went ballistic. You had sex with Candy on Valentine's Day and I didn't care. I just didn't care. I didn't give two shits. You see? You see the difference? It's not that I love him more than I loved you. That's not it at all. It's not a continuum. It's not a scale with gradations. I love him. I never loved you. What I feel for him is totally different from what I felt for you, whatever that was. It's a totally different thing. I don't really know what I felt for you, but I now know for sure what it wasn't. It wasn't love, Bryce. I don't love you and I never have." She spoke with certainty. She recognized that she was being harsh, but she was partly fueled by her residual anger at him for a long list of grievances, starting with Stanford and ending, most recently, with his behavior in Chuck's room.

Bryce was silent at that revelation for a long time. Sarah got up and threw a blanket over him, then went into the kitchen and began to make a pot of coffee. While the coffee was brewing, she took a book off Casey's bookshelf, the first volume of Morris' s biography of Teddy Roosevelt. She sat down in an easy chair, keeping the trank gun handy and began to read.

Eventually Bryce said, "I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you both. I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn't think that you were ...well, that you were open to someone who isn't...you know..."

"No, I don't know. Someone who isn't what?" She sounded a little testy.

"Someone who isn't in the life. The spy life."

"Well, first off, Chuck is great at what we do, even without any training. He's a natural. He's brilliant and quick and brave..."

"Sarah, that's not what I meant. I'm certain that he's competent. Hell, he faked me into an ambush by Casey. No question he's competent. What I meant is that Chuck is good. He's a good person. He's not going to lie and cheat and steal and kill. Not like us. He's better than that..."

It came to her suddenly, where he was heading. "Oh, my God. You think he's too good for me. That's why you were surprised. I thought you were being dismissive of Chuck, but you weren't. You were being dismissive of me. You think I'm ...damaged goods." She was startled.

"Well, yeah, I do. You and me both. We are, both of us, damaged in one way or another. Casey too. We are cut from the same cloth, Sarah. We just aren't as good as Chuck is. I don't know anyone else who is. I didn't expect you to appreciate that, that's all. Like I said, I underestimated you. I was surprised that you were...are...as open to someone like Chuck. That's all. But I am happy for you. I hope...I hope it works out." Even he didn't know if that was true or not.

She said, "You're not wrong. He is good. And I'm...not. But we're in love, Bryce. You don't know what that's like. Those differences will work themselves out."

"I'm sure. Love conquers all, right?," he said, nodding his head.

Bryce was silent for a while and Sarah began to read the book. Eventually, he said, "How did he react when you told him all about your past? About all the things you've done? The seduction missions? All the people you've killed? The assassinations?"

Staring at the ceiling, Bryce couldn't see her face. Which was probably a good thing, because she looked like he'd just punched her in the stomach. She gathered her thoughts, pushing herself to answer, and said, "He...he told me that he was proud of me."

He chuckled dryly. "Yeah. That sounds like Chuck. Like I said, he's good. That's what a good man would say to stories like those. Dark stories like those. As much as they might horrify him, he'd be proud of you. Good. I'm glad that's behind you both." Every word hit her like a hard blow.

They stopped talking then and he seemed to go to sleep.

It was her worst nightmare and Bryce had pulled it out of the recesses of her mind and forced her to look at it squarely. What she contemplated horrified her more than anything she'd ever faced. Sarah sat for a long time without turning the book's pages, crying silently to herself.

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Three hours passed quickly. She shook Casey awake and left to go to bed with Chuck.

Casey came out and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat in the same easy chair as Sarah had and began to read the latest issue of Guns & Ammo.

Bryce said, "Casey, you know, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. I think if we..."

Casey said, in a deep growl, "Don't bother, Larkin. Don't waste your time. We aren't friends. We aren't ever going to be friends. Even if you're what you claim, and on the side of the angels, we still aren't going to be friends. I think you are a spoiled, arrogant, selfish prick. And you aren't going to get any better." Casey stood from the chair and looked down at the bound man. "But I do have to tell you this, Larkin, as long as we're chatting like a couple of old buddies here. If you ever hurt my partners again, even a little bit...either one of them...I will make your life so fucking painful that you will be begging me to kill you again. Capisce?"

"Listen, Casey, I …."

"I don't want to listen to you," said Casey, as he shot Bryce in the belly with another trank dart.

He sat back down and sipped his coffee, appreciating the silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Bryce woke up, Chuck was there in the easy chair working on his laptop. Sunlight was visible outside the windows, although the shades had been drawn closed. Chuck saw him raise his head off the table, and said, "Morning, Bryce. Do you want some water?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Thanks. If you could uncuff me..."

"No, no, no." Chuck held up a water cup with a bendy straw like they use in hospitals.

"Thanks, buddy. You can uncuff me. You can trust me. I won't …."

"Nope. Not happening. Stop asking. But, here, let me help you," said Chuck. Chuck maneuvered the water cup and straw so Bryce could drink.

"Thanks," said Bryce.

"No problem," said Chuck, sitting back in the easy chair and looking down at his computer.

After a while, Bryce asked, "What are you working on?"

"I'm reading Tommy Delgado's CIA file. Looking to see if there are any clues to his Fulcrum connection. Cross checking it with another Fulcrum guy we ran into a few weeks ago."

"Who was that?" asked Bryce.

"Nope. Sorry, dude. You don't get to learn stuff from me until we are sure you're one of the good guys. Anyway, I'm looking for something the analysts can spot, so we don't have to rely on the Intersect to pick out these guys."

"The Intersect. Yeah. I'm sorry about that..."

"No, you're not," said Chuck.

"What?"

"You're not sorry. That's bullshit. You're not sorry you did this to me. It was part of your plan. You needed someone who was not part of Fulcrum to take the Intersect, so you picked me. You aren't sorry you did it. You came here so that you could use the Intersect, which happens to be in my head, to accomplish your mission against Fulcrum. So, don't bullshit me, Bryce. Don't start feeding me bullshit apologies, because I really don't want to hear them from you. You did exactly what you intended to do and here we are." While he spoke, he continued to work on his computer.

"Ok. You're right. I'm not sorry." Bryce was silent for a while and then said, "We have to stop these guys, Chuck. It's important. These are some bad people. If it wasn't important, I wouldn't have done it. I knew you would want to help us. It's in your DNA. You help people. It's what you do. I knew you would …"

Chuck slammed his computer closed and said, his voice shaking with emotion, "YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED ME. YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED ME, BRYCE." He took a deep breath and continued, his voice harsh and angry. "It's just the same shit with you. It must be fucking exhausting to be so fucking sure of yourself that you know better than everyone else. That you can manipulate their lives with impunity because you know best. You know what, Bryce? I've been thinking about it and I don't think you'll make a very good father. Sorry. Nothing personal, I just don't think so. So, I've arranged for you to be castrated. I hope you weren't too attached to those little guys, cause they are gone." Chuck jerked his thumb over his shoulder to show the direction Bryce's testicles were destined to take. "I don't think it's necessary to talk to you about it or explain it or ask your opinion or anything. I know best, you see? I can make this decision for you and to hell with the consequences. If you don't like my decision, well, that's just too fucking bad, because I know best. I can manipulate your life. I can get you thrown out of school, cause that's what's best for you. God, you are such an asshole."

"Chuck, you have to believe me. I am so, so sorry for what I did to you at Stanford. I really am. I made a huge mistake and I now wish I'd never done it. And I feel terrible about it. I'm going to have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life. It weighs on me every day. You don't even understand how bad I feel about that. I feel terrible."

"You know what, asshole. I truly don't give a fuck about how bad you feel about it. I really don't. This isn't about you. Hell, it's not even all about Stanford. Think about what you did to me two months ago. You claim to be my friend? You're the fucking wrecking ball of my life, dude."

Bryce was silent for a while, thinking. "Well, it's not all bad. It brought Sarah into your life."

That actually gave Chuck pause for a moment. After a while he said, "You're trying to sell me on the silver lining, huh? So, I guess you're going to ask me to thank you for sleeping with Jill too, right? Cause that cleared the deck for Sarah."

"What?" asked Bryce, sounding shocked.

"Oh, right, sorry. You forgot. So many girls..."

"Chuck, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. I never slept with Jill. Not once. I didn't. She was your girl."

"Oh, bullshit, dude. I know you did."

"No. I didn't. Why would you think that? Who told you that?" Bryce asked. He sounded honestly appalled.

"She did. Just after you got me kicked out and she dumped me. She told me so herself."

"WHAT?" Bryce jerked on the table as if he'd been hit with a cattle prod. "NO. It didn't happen. Why would she?...that fucking bitch...Chuck, I swear to you. I swear to you. I never did that. She lied to you for some twisted reason of her own. I don't have any idea why she would tell you that, but I swear it's not true. I never touched her. Never. After she dumped you, I was furious at her. I barely spoke to her again for the rest of school and have never spoken to her or heard from her since."

Chuck was silent for a while. He was pondering why Jill might have lied to him about that and was not finding any answers. Finally, he said, "I don't know, Bryce. I just don't know if I can believe you. You are a pretty skilled liar, in case you didn't know."

"I am. I know that. I don't blame you for being skeptical. After everything, I don't blame you. But, it's true. I never touched her." After a while he said, "Jesus. You must hate me so much. And who could blame you?"

"Ya think?" said Chuck.

They were silent for a while and finally Bryce said, "You have friends everywhere. Everyone likes you, cause you're such a good guy. Sarah's totally in love with you. Even Casey likes you, and that guy is a misanthrope if ever there was one. But I only have one friend in the world, Chuck. You. You are my only friend. I understand that you doubt that, it's reasonable after everything that I've done to you...except the Jill thing, I didn't do that...Anyone would doubt that I'm a real friend. But it's true. And if I can get right with my bosses and get a chance, I'm going to prove it to you. I'm going to show you. I hope I get a chance to. I really do." Bryce had meant every word he had said.

"Ok," said Chuck, with a small shrug. He didn't sound convinced. After a while, Chuck said, "And if you don't get right with your bosses?"

"Well, in that case they'll probably kill me or dump me in a cell someplace for the rest of my life. The best I could possibly hope for in that case would be that they cut me loose. Fire me from the Agency."

"What would you do then?"

Bryce shrugged. "I don't know. Something. I can get a job anywhere. A Stanford degree is pretty marketable, buddy."

Chuck looked uncomfortable. "Uhh...yeah...about your degree..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Casey and Sarah returned to Casey's living room to find Bryce looking pretty glum.

"Graham texted me. He's landed and is on his way here," said Sarah.

"Good," said Casey.

"Uh, guys? I know you're probably annoyed that I keep asking, but do you think you could let me meet the Director of the CIA with my pants on? It's kind of humiliating this way."

"No," Sarah and Casey said at the same time.

"Ummm. Maybe we could let him get dressed, guys. I mean, there're three of us here and we all have trank guns. He probably can't get away with too much. I understand a little bit where he's coming from. I mean, it would be kind of embarrassing to meet your boss in your underwear," said Chuck.

Sarah and Casey looked at each other and shrugged. "Ok. He can get up and get dressed. Don't think we trust you though, Bryce," said Sarah.

"Thank you, guys. And you can trust me. I haven't been lying to you." Casey snorted.

Casey uncuffed him and removed the plastic wrap from his hands. All three of them kept the trank guns in their hands, pointed at Bryce as he dressed. Casey moved Bryce's gear and weapons out of reach. Bryce had the good grace to look pretty nervous at the thought of the impending conversation with Graham.

It wasn't too much later that there was a knock on Casey's door. Casey opened it, and there was Director Langston Graham filling the doorway.

Coming in to the apartment, he shook Casey's hand. "Good to finally meet you in person, Major."

"You too, Sir." Casey was reassured by Graham's grip. It was strong without the extra pressure of machismo or competition.

Graham said, "General Beckman knows I'm here. Knows you have Agent Larkin, but no one else does. Not even my security detail outside."

"Understood, Sir," said Casey.

Sarah stepped forward next and said, "Director." She wore a tiny smile.

Graham said, "Agent Walker." He had a pleased expression on his face as they shook hands.

Whichever two were not greeting Graham were covering Bryce with the trank guns, and moving around the room to make sure they had a clear shot if it became necessary.

Graham reached out and took Chuck's hand. "Chuck. It's a real pleasure to meet you in person, son. A real pleasure. Thank you for all your help these past few months." His left hand grasped Chuck's right elbow firmly, emphasizing the warmth of his greeting.

"Thank you, Sir. And thank you again for all you've done for me. I'm incredibly grateful."

"No worries, Chuck. You've done some wonderful work for us in return. I'm delighted to have you on the team. I really am." He clapped Chuck on the back.

Finally, Graham turned to Bryce. "Agent Larkin." There was no warmth in his voice.

"Director," said Bryce, smiling and stepping forward with his hand outstretched to shake hands with Graham.

Graham stepped forward to meet him, his right hand outstretched to shake. As he did so, he shifted his weight and stride. His left fist swung up in a massive left cross, catching Larkin on the point of his chin. It was a mighty blow with all of Graham's considerable size and strength behind it. Larkin's feet actually left the ground for an instant as he flew backwards to land on a coffee table, which smashed to pieces under him. He lay sprawled and loose in the wreckage of the table, unmoving.

Graham said, "Sorry about the table, Major. Bill the CIA."

"Good swing, Sir," said Casey, nodding with professional appreciation.

"Riding a bike, Major," said Graham, shaking out his left hand.

Sarah and Chuck were more than a little surprised.

"Umm, why did you do that, Sir?" asked Chuck.

Looking at Chuck, he said, "Because I was pretty sure you wouldn't, and I really thought somebody should."

Casey laughed pretty hard at that.

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A/N2: Next up, Graham interrogates Larkin. Not going to be Bryce's easiest day. Thoughts? Comments? Always love to hear from you folks.


	53. Chapter 53

A/N: Chapter dropping a little early this week, as I'll be out of town for the weekend starting tonight. Hope this doesn't mess up anyone's Friday plans. Oh, and...right, right, right. Don't own anything. Blah, blah, blah. Now let's go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Graham stood in the courtyard at Echo Park and said to Jerry Barker, the head of his security detail, "I'm meeting Carmichael's team. Do not interrupt for any reason, Jerry. Even if you hear gunfire, don't come in."

"Gunfire? Boss, we are supposed to protect you. My job..." Barker was a fresh-faced, blonde man in his early thirties. Graham liked him a lot and had personally selected him for the security detail. Barker would have preferred to be in the field, but accepted the position next to the Director with good grace.

Graham was dressed in khakis and his favorite leather jacket. He pulled back the jacket to show his Beretta 92 FS (used by the US Army under the designation M9) in a shoulder holster. "Jerry, I'll be the one shooting," he said in a deep growl.

Barker was startled by that and looked at his boss closely for a few moments. "Oh. Ok. Good luck."

"Thanks. See you later," said Graham, patting him on the shoulder.

He knocked on the door to Casey's apartment. Graham was pleased to see that the windows to the apartment had been covered with pulled shades so the interior was not visible to pedestrians in the courtyard. Major John Casey opened the door and nodded a greeting at Graham.

Entering the apartment, Graham said, "Good to finally meet you in person, Major." Casey was almost Graham's height, which was pretty tall. He was muscular and Marine Corps tight. His grip was as solid as his gaze. Graham liked what he saw. Lucky Diane to have snagged this man from the Corps.

"You too, Sir."

To reassure Casey that this was still a joint operation, Graham said, "General Beckman knows I'm here. Knows you have Agent Larkin, but no one else does. Not even my security detail outside." He didn't want rumors floating around Langley.

"Understood, Sir," said Casey.

Sarah approached him and said, "Director". She wore a tiny smile and her eyes sparkled at him with happiness. Upon a moment's reflection, he could never remember seeing her looking happier.

He was delighted to see her, but kept his manner professional, "Agent Walker." He shook her hand, but couldn't entirely keep his pleasure off his face.

Graham noted that the team was smoothly moving around the room to keep Larkin covered with trank pistols, even Chuck. It was calm, quiet, competent and seemed easy (although he knew it was anything but). To Graham's practiced eye, it showed a level of trust and respect among the three and an unspoken understanding of what needed to be done. The team was top notch. He knew they were just quietly doing their jobs, but he was nevertheless impressed – not that he needed more evidence that this particular team excelled.

Next up was Chuck Bartowski, his newest and most surprising superstar. A man who asked for none of this and yet volunteered to help when he realized he could. A man who wasn't even going to ask for anything in return. A man who, at every turn, surprised them all with his skill, intelligence, perception and judgment, none of it having the slightest bit to do with the Intersect in his head. Chuck was as tall as Casey, but lanky. Graham took Chuck's hand in his and said, "Chuck. It's a real pleasure to meet you in person, son. A real pleasure. Thank you for all your help these past few months." Graham took Chuck's elbow in his left hand and looked at him warmly.

Chuck said, "Thank you, Sir. And thank you again for all you've done for me. I'm incredibly grateful."

Graham tried to reassure him. "No worries, Chuck. You've done some wonderful work for us in return. I'm delighted to have you on the team. I really am." He softly clapped Chuck on the back.

And finally, here's that son of a bitch Larkin, complete with smarmy smile. He said, "Agent Larkin." Larkin seemed eager to kiss his ass and tell him some bullshit to keep his own ass out of stir. But the possibility of information on Fulcrum was too tempting to pass-up. Graham had re-read the man's file on the plane ride west. And he had re-watched the video of Larkin and Fleming conspiring to get Chuck kicked out of Stanford. Anger flared in him and combined with his strategic need to set the right tone for the interrogation. He stepped forward with his hand extended.

Larkin did likewise and said, "Director."

While Larkin was focused on his right hand, Graham hit him with the left. He allowed his anger and disdain for the man to lend power to his fist. Larkin was out on his feet and his body flew back to smash a coffee table on its way to the ground. 'Yup,' thought Graham with satisfaction, 'one punch knock-out. I still got it.' Graham felt bad about the table, though.

Graham said, "Sorry about the table, Major. Bill the CIA."

"Good swing, Sir," said Casey, nodding.

"Riding a bike," said Graham. Sitting behind a desk and using his hands for little more than signing his name had softened them and his hand hurt. He shook it out to get some blood flowing through it. It would be sore tomorrow, but he'd be damned if he'd ask the Major for a bag of ice.

"Umm, why did you do that, Sir?" asked Chuck.

Because I was pissed off at the son of a bitch who stole five years from you, betrayed Sarah, and blew up a multi-billion dollar facility. Instead of all of that he simply said, truthfully, "Because I was pretty sure you wouldn't, and I really thought somebody should."

Casey laughed pretty hard at that. Graham caught his eye and shared a little smile with the Major.

"Help me get him on the couch, Major." They did so. Graham bent down and pulled Larkin's shoes off. "Got any rope?"

"I have cuffs," said the Major.

"Naw. I'm old school. Rope can't be picked or shimmed."

"Hang on, Sir," said the Major with a little smile. Casey was back in a minute with a length of rope which Graham used to effectively and efficiently bind Larkin's hands in front of him, where they would be seen.

"You sweep here regularly?" he asked Casey as he was tying Larkin. Casey knew he was asking about an electronic sweep for wireless listening devices.

"Don't have to, Sir. Bartowski fixed up a gadget for us that gives us an alarm if a transmitter enters the apartment. It skips cell phone frequencies and our own internal team communication frequency, but otherwise will alert us."

Graham looked over at Chuck for a second and said, "Yeah?"

"Yes, Sir. It's pretty simple really. I did the same at all our residences and both the Buy More and the Wienerlicious. The Buy More was more complicated because there are a lot of bluetooth and wireless devices working, but I was able to adjust for those. Every once in a while it goes off if a cop with a radio enters the store or something, but we haven't had any real alerts since it's gone active."

"Huh. Ok, remind me to get you in touch with our tech guys. That sounds interesting," said Graham. "You already impressed the shit out of them with your software changes to the tracker."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll do that," said Chuck. Sarah looked pleased and proud and glanced at Chuck with a smile.

Graham grabbed a straight-backed chair from the table, draped his jacket over the back, and turned it around, sitting on it backwards in front of Larkin, his arms leaning on the chairback.

"Could I get a glass of water, please, Major?"

"Certainly, Sir." He was back in a moment with the water. Graham took a long drink of the water and looked at Larkin.

Time to start.

He threw the remainder of the water into Larkin's face and the man woke up, sputtering. His bound hands reached for his face to wipe the water out of his eyes. In a few seconds, his eyes focused on Graham. He glanced for a moment or two at the three people standing behind Graham, who all looked at him stone faced, but then looked back to Graham himself.

Moving with slow deliberation, Graham took his weapon from its holster and a silencer from a pocket. He began to screw the silencer onto the end of the pistol. Larkin didn't show much outward fear, but his eyes never left the weapon. There was a tautness to him.

As Graham was assembling the pistol to his satisfaction, he said, "Larkin. I flew across the country to hear what you have to say. Why did I do that? I'm the Director, right? My time is pretty valuable. I did it because the three people behind me...the man who killed you the first time, the partner you betrayed, and the college buddy you betrayed over and over again...they asked me to. So, I'm here. If not for their request you would be in a deep, dark hole with some sadists in my employ chatting with you. They would have a car battery clamped to your nuts and would be asking you some very difficult questions. But, Larkin, please understand that I have tremendous respect for these three people and when they asked me to listen, I agreed to listen. So, your interrogation is being conducted on a comfy couch instead. If you are wondering about this.." Graham held up the pistol. "I need you to understand something. I had my Red Test years before you were born." He shrugged. "If I kill you here this morning, I will not lose a single minute of sleep.

"So, you need to talk to me now, Larkin. And I want you to think very carefully about what you tell me...what you have to say. This conversation could save your life. Or not." Graham shrugged again. "Frankly, I won't know until it's over. Now, Larkin, you are a smart man. So, I need you to consider carefully what you have to tell me." Graham was waving the silenced weapon around in Bryce's direction the whole time he was speaking, his finger on the trigger. "You don't know what I already know about Fulcrum. You don't know how smart I am or how good I am at smelling bullshit. So, if I were you, I would err on the side of caution and be one hundred percent honest with me. The floor is yours." Graham gestured with the silenced weapon to indicate that Larkin might proceed. As he settled down to listen, he aimed the silenced pistol at Bryce with his wrist braced on the back of the chair. The vibe Graham gave off was one of serious menace mixed with expectation.

"Where do you want me to start, Sir?" The conversation was not going at all as Larkin had expected and his confidence had been badly shaken. He was doing his best to keep his cool, but it was obvious to them that he was already deeply rattled. He, quite reasonably, understood that he was trying to save his own life.

"Your story to tell, Larkin," said Graham with a shrug.

"Ok, Sir. Last March I was contacted by Tommy Delgado purporting to represent an internal agency subgroup. He used my activation codes and ordered me to shed all my agency contacts and head into deep cover for a mission. I did as he instructed. I left Agent Walker without a word and disappeared. My first stop was a safe house in Saint Petersburg, Florida. I have the address if you want it."

"Later. Let's hear the rest of the story and you can fill in details like that later. Why you?" said Graham.

"I'm the best agent you had in the field, Sir. I'm sure..."

Graham interrupted, his voice decreasing in volume as he spoke, "Goddammit. Here's an idea, you arrogant little shit. Why don't you let me decide who my best people are?" Graham was shaking his head. "Did you have success partnered with Agent Walker? Absolutely, but the team you are looking at right now is hands down the best I have in the field today. What's the common denominator? Let me give you a hint...it's not Bryce fucking Larkin. Jesus Christ. 'Best I had'" Graham was almost whispering by this point. "You are twenty-seven years old. I have tee shirts older than you. And you have the chutzpah to tell me that you are better than my veteran agents...Shit, Larkin, climb down off your fucking high horse. You are such an asshole. Can you run faster than a veteran? Sure, but the veteran knows how to arrange things so he doesn't have to run at all. How about you pick another reason they liked you for this deep cover disappearance?"

Bryce looked at the floor as Graham was dressing him down, unable to meet the older man's gaze. When it was his turn to speak, he sighed and said, "I have nobody. I'm alone. No real family to speak of. No real attachments. If I disappear only Sar...Agent Walker would miss me," he glanced for a moment at Sarah, "and even she wouldn't miss me for long." He glanced at Chuck. "I didn't have ties to break." He looked back to Graham.

"Ok," said Graham in a more normal volume, "that makes more sense. Go on."

"I cooled my heels there for over a month. I was visited by Delgado a few times. Once in a while he was accompanied by other Fulcrum agents."

"Name the other Fulcrum agents, in addition to Delgado, that you met and interacted with," said Graham.

"They used code names around me. Wisely, I don't think they trusted me at that point. There was Pegasus, Romulus, Greyhound, Fishtail, and Steelbottom..."

"Steelbottom?" asked Graham.

"Yeah. He had no sense of humor about the name, let me tell you. Anyway, the first two I recognized from other things. Pegasus was Galina Bryant, who used to work in Columbia against the cartels. Romulus was Brandon Stacey. He taught a class at the Farm when I was there."

Graham looked increasingly unhappy at those revelations.

"Anyway, he gave me a file to study. A file about a new computer set up, a new program called the Intersect. I don't know how he got the information on it. All the government's secrets set up for download into someone's head. I knew it was possible from the classes I had with Professor Fleming at Stanford, the work he was doing on the Omaha Project. I questioned Delgado about my orders. From his answers it was clear to me that this was an unsanctioned operation. As bad as that discovery was, it got worse. While we were together, he worked to recruit me to Fulcrum. That's what they call themselves, Fulcrum. But you know that already. When I realized what was happening, I also realized that I was in a very bad spot. If I pushed back or balked, he would have me killed in an instant. So, I played along. I pretended to be a willing recruit. The further along I seemed to be as I was recruited, the better. He began to open up more and more. And what he told me was very, very bad."

"Tell me about their goals, Larkin. What do these guys want?" asked Graham.

"It seems that they formed after 9-11. They are hypernationalists. Certain that the have the monopoly on the only way to protect the country. Neo-fascist in their outlook. America for Americans. Xenophobic. Constitution is a suicide pact that should be trashed in favor of strong-man rule. Due process and civil liberties are luxuries we can't afford. On and on. Very dangerous philosophy, but easy to sell after the attacks. If that was all, it wouldn't be as dangerous. Just another brand of political zealotry. But they have men and women throughout all of the military, the intelligence agencies and even top law enforcement. Some business leaders are on board too, at least Delgado claims they are. According to Delgado, there are thousands of Fulcrum agents and they are biding their time."

Graham was looking increasingly disturbed by what he was hearing. It made sense and was completely feasible. He knew there had been grumblings about the constraints they faced from Congress and the courts in their pursuit of the country's enemies. The fact that the adherents to Fulcrum's warped agenda were trained intelligence officers made it that much more dangerous and, therefore, horrifying.

"What are their plans?" asked Graham.

"They seem obsessed with the Intersect. As if it's some kind of magic bullet. They think that if they can get it and control it, they will have the power to do what they want."

"That's not my question, Larkin. The Intersect is a tool...a weapon. What do they plan to do with it? Or without it, if they can't get it?" asked Graham.

"I don't know. Delgado never said," answered Larkin. "But it's not going to be good. My impression was that whatever they have in mind ultimately will wait for them to control the Intersect. Step one of the bigger plan, I guess."

"Ok," said Graham. "Keep going."

"I realized I had to try to stop these guys. By July, they trusted me enough to send me out from St. Pete. They sent me on a mission here to Los Angeles, to steal a computer component from a developer. I stayed at a safe house here in LA. I took advantage of the time unobserved by them to make a trip up to Palo Alto and contact Fleming at Stanford and tell him to destroy his files. They had told me that they intended to get the Project Omaha files from him. I wanted them destroyed before that, before Fulcrum could get their hands on them. He told me he would do it when he got back from a teaching assignment abroad. I couldn't reach out to the "real" CIA. I had no way of knowing if I would be talking to a Fulcrum agent. So, I stayed with them and did my best to mess up their plans by myself. The component they wanted ...well, I delivered it to them, but made sure it had been damaged in the extraction, without that damage being tied to me, though. I messed up the software so that it fried itself when they turned it on.

"In the beginning of August, they pulled me back east and began the preparations for Operation Sand Wall. That's the operation Chuck knew about from the Intersect." Graham twisted to look at Chuck, who nodded. Graham resumed looking at Larkin. "I was to infiltrate the Intersect facility and steal the Intersect for them. If I couldn't get it out by conventional means, I was to view the images myself and bring it out in my own head."

"Did Fulcrum have any concern for your safety?" asked Graham. "From the downloaded program?"

"What? Why? The Intersect was safe. It hadn't hurt any of the previous test subjects. That wasn't an issue that was raised," said Bryce, apparently slightly confused.

"There were no previous test subjects, Larkin. Chuck was the first. And no one...not one of the scientists ...no one, thought that the entire database could be downloaded into a single individual," said Graham.

Bryce looked honestly horrified. "WHAT? NO. They showed me reports of the testing. Multiple test subjects. They told me it was safe. No..."

"Well, you are either lying to us now or you bought their line of bullshit, Larkin," said Graham.

"Oh, shit." Larkin looked at Chuck and said, "No. Chuck, I would never have sent it to you unless I thought it was safe. Never. I thought it had been tested. I would never put you at risk. It wouldn't be worth it. Never. I swear. I thought you'd be perfect for it because of your test scores on Fleming's tests, but I didn't know it hadn't been tested. I swear, Chuck." He looked and sounded truly upset. "I thought it was safe."

Chuck said, "Ok." The statement was merely an acknowledgement, not an acceptance.

"Are you ok? I mean with the Intersect in your head?" asked Bryce, sounding very worried.

"Peachy," said Chuck, deadpan.

"Focus, Larkin. What was your real plan going in to the Intersect facility? If you weren't going to do what Fulcrum wanted, what were you going to do instead?" asked Graham.

"I planned to get the Intersect, email it to Chuck and destroy the facility to keep it out of Fulcrum's hands. That would leave Chuck as the only Intersect."

"Why Chuck?" asked Graham.

"I needed someone who was not a spy. Someone who couldn't possibly be Fulcrum. That was Chuck."

Graham didn't seem to aim, but the gun in his hand fired once. The bullet clipped a wrinkle in Bryce's shirt, tearing a hole, but didn't touch his skin. Bryce flinched and everyone but Graham jumped slightly from the sudden bang. Bryce's eyes filled with sudden fear. He had felt the heat of the bullet in its passing.

"Bullshit, Larkin. I warned you I might be able to smell it and I just have. Go ahead and try it again and the next shot takes off a finger. Go ahead." Twisting his head around, he said to Casey. "Sorry about the couch."

Larkin said, his eyes wide and fear in his voice, "No, Sir. It's not bullshit. It's true. That's why I picked Chuck. He had no involvement with the Intelligence Community. He couldn't be Fulcrum."

"Larkin, you must really think I'm an idiot. You got him kicked out of Stanford five years ago to keep him from the CIA. I saw the tape of you and Fleming conspiring to do just that. You destroyed his life in order to keep him out. Don't expect me to believe that the first time you needed a civilian you decided to bring him in."

"It wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to get expelled. It should have just been a suspension." Bryce looked up at Chuck and said, pleadingly, "It wasn't supposed to happen. I ...we never thought Carroll would kick you out."

"Bullshit again," said Graham.

"Actually, Sir, that does match what President Carroll told me. He admitted he overreacted," said Chuck.

"OK. Still, it's a tangent, Larkin. You kept him away from us five years ago and then gave him the Intersect. Makes no sense. I don't believe that this was the first civilian name that came into your head. It makes no fucking sense. You keep shitting me, Larkin, and you'll end up in that hole we talked about."

Sounding desperate, Bryce said, "But it's true..."

"No, it's not. There was one other person you were 100% certain was not loyal to Fulcrum. You could have put the Intersect there."

"No. Everyone was suspect. I couldn't trust anyone." Bryce sounded even more desperate.

"Bullshit. You could have downloaded it into your own head, Larkin. You could have fulfilled your Fulcrum mission and become the Intersect. But instead you choose to send it to Chuck. You've already told us that you believed it to be safe. Were you lying about that and wanted to give it to Chuck in case it would kill the first person to download it? Is that why you didn't take it yourself?" Graham was really yelling at Bryce by this point, which, at least the members of Team Bartowski knew, was not an indication of real anger on his part.

"No. I swear I thought it was tested...was safe."

"This conversation is over. I've wasted my fucking time here," said Graham, standing from the chair.

"No, please" Bryce barked, wide eyed and more than a little panicked. "No." Graham sat back down and looked at him calmly, waiting. Bryce was clearly struggling with his answer. "I...I...It's ...it's cause you suck," Bryce said with passionate conviction, almost looking like he was fighting back tears. His hands were shaking and his eyes looked a little wild. Both Sarah and Chuck were shocked. Neither had ever seen the cool, calm Bryce Larkin losing his shit to this extent. The guy was coming apart as they watched. Graham was a very skilled interrogator, manipulating Bryce's emotions and expectations to get at the truth.

"Now we're talking," said Graham with some satisfaction.

"And Sarah sucks. And Casey sucks and I suck most of all. All of us are awful, horrible, broken people. The Agency is populated by people just like us. Everything we were taught not to do in pre-school, that's what we fucking do for a living. We lie and cheat. We betray. We murder people...torture people. All for the Greater fucking Good. We suck. All of us spies. He doesn't. He's the only honest to God good person I ever met. I kept him out of all this because I thought this life would hurt him, would destroy him. But over the last five years I changed my mind. I was wrong before. Totally wrong. He's exactly what we needed to save us all. We need him with us. We need him. I need him. I need his... goodness...his honesty, his compassion. I need him to ...to...to help me." Bryce was very upset and looked like he might cry any second, but that didn't slow the flow of his words. "The Intersect is an incredibly powerful tool. And to be the only one...it's like a superpower. I...I didn't trust myself to have it. I didn't trust myself to be the only one. I trusted Chuck, though. I trust him."

"Because he's so good?" asked Graham, in a harsh growl, his weapon still pointed at Bryce. "Come on, Larkin. You can't really expect me to believe that shit can you? That you suddenly found religion and had to bring Saint Chuck into the fold?"

Bryce took a deep breath and tried to calm down and gather himself. He rubbed his face with the back of his bound hands. "Director, there's a comic book called The Infinity Gauntlet. It's about a magic glove that gives the power of God to whoever wears it."

"Sure. By Starlin. What about it?" Chuck looked at the back of Graham's head with surprise. Sarah and Casey with disbelief. Bryce seemed not to notice.

"If you had the Gauntlet...all that power...who would you give it to? Who would you trust with that power?"

"You tell me, Larkin."

"Captain America. He's the only one you could trust to wear it. Because he's good. Thoroughly good. He has a solid moral compass. He wouldn't be selfish, or petty, or vindictive, or self-serving, or unjust. He would just use it to do good. To help." Sudden anger flared in Bryce. "Tell me I'm wrong, for Chrissakes. Tell me that's not exactly what Chuck has been doing for the last two months since he's had the Intersect. Trying to help." Larkin was still emotional, but clearly thought he was on solid ground with his argument.

"Point taken, Larkin. That's exactly what Chuck has been up to since you handed him to us." Graham now appeared satisfied with Larkin's explanation of how Chuck ended up with the Intersect. "Now tell me, what was the rest of your plan? You didn't plan on getting shot by Major Casey. What did you intend to do after blowing up the Intersect computer and escaping?"

"I was going to do then what I did yesterday. I was going to find Chuck and get to him. I'd explain what I had done and why I needed his help. I wanted him to vet Sarah...Agent Walker. I thought he could use the Intersect and identify Fulcrum agents. Once I knew she was clear of Fulcrum connections, the three of us, Chuck, Agent Walker and I, we could take them on. With Chuck as the Intersect, they wouldn't stand a chance. That was my plan. To lead a dream team against Fulcrum. That was my plan. But,… it didn't work out too well."

"No, it didn't. What happened after you got shot by Major Casey?"

"They brought me back to life in an ambulance. Delgado was there. I told him I'd looked at the pictures. That the Intersect was in my head. That I was the Intersect. That I had accomplished my mission. The next thing I remember I woke up in a clinic of some kind being treated for the bullet wound. I was there the rest of the time, until I woke up in your facility in Brooklyn. I didn't know for sure that I wasn't still under their control until I saw Chuck."

"Where was the clinic they took you to?"

"Scandinavia or Russia."

"How do you know that?" asked Graham.

"One night I made a sextant out of two pencils and a rubber band. Checked it against a big clock. I was at about 65° North latitude."

Chuck looked over at Sarah with a questioning expression and she motioned that she'd explain later.

"Why not Canada?" asked Graham after a moment thinking about a map of the world.

"It had European style plugs in the walls."

"Ok. What else can you tell me about the last two months?"

"I acted weaker and sicker than I really was. Confused and sort of out of it. I thought if they had a chance to really question me, they might discover that I had lied to them about the Intersect. Then they might come looking for Chuck. So, I bought time any way I could until I could escape from them. They tried to get me to...what was the word you used, Chuck?...flash. They tried to get me to flash on images. Sometimes I would mumble something or act like it gave me a headache. I didn't know how I was supposed to be reacting to any of it so I didn't know how to fake it. Now I know that they didn't know either. But at the time..."

"Who else was there? Who else can you identify as Fulcrum?" asked Graham.

"All the staff were referred to only by title and first names. Dr. Pete, Nurse Anna, like that. I didn't recognize any of them. I was visited by Delgado, and a couple of the agents I've already mentioned. They were getting increasingly frustrated by the lack of evidence that I even had the Intersect much less that it was useful. Eventually they decided to bring me back to the States. They thought that maybe seeing things in person, rather than through pictures might trigger the Intersect. They drugged me in...well, wherever I was, and I woke up in Brooklyn. I came here because I assumed that the real Intersect, Chuck, had cleared Agents Walker and Casey of Fulcrum connections. That I could trust them as a result. With their help, I knew I could get to the real CIA, the non-Fulcrum part of the CIA. That I could get to you, Sir."

"Ok. Anything you want to add to the story, Larkin? Or are we done here?"

"That's it, Sir. I've been honest with you here, more than honest maybe. I'm on your side, Sir. I'm not Fulcrum." Bryce looked and sounded desperate for Graham to believe him.

"Here's the thing, Larkin. I still don't know if I can trust you. You did a good job of telling your story, but I know you are an accomplished liar. It's one of the reasons I hired you. So, how do I know if you're lying now? That's the question I have to answer. And I'll be honest with you. I don't know. I don't."

"Sir, I'm..."

Graham held up his hand to silence Larkin. He looked like he was thinking hard. Larkin began to sweat. He looked genuinely scared of what Graham might conclude. Finally, Graham said, without turning around, "Major, do you trust him?"

Casey said, "No."

Graham nodded his head a couple of times. Then, he said, "Agent Walker?"

Sarah stood there staring at Bryce for a long time. He was looking back at her with pleading eyes. Conflicting emotions were warring on her face. She was silent for so long that Graham twisted around in his seat to look at her. Finally, she said in a slightly choked voice, "I don't know."

Graham said, "Not helpful, but honest. Ok. Chuck?"

Chuck, who by that point had expected the question, was also torn. He stood looking at Bryce for a long time also, Bryce holding his gaze. Eventually he said, "Yeah. I do. I don't want to trust him, but I think he's been telling us the truth. And his story hangs together logically. It makes sense of what has otherwise been some pretty inexplicable behavior."

"Ok...Ok, Larkin. Tie score. It's back to me." Graham fell silent and just looked at Larkin without expression. Long minutes of silence ticked by as he considered Larkin's fate. A bead of sweat ran down Larkin's temple, although it was not particularly warm in the room. His eyes were glued to Graham's weapon. The silence was broken when Graham said, "I'm going to go with Chuck. He knows you longest and probably best." Graham began to unscrew the silencer from the end of his pistol. "Chuck just saved your life, Agent Larkin. Say thank you."

Bryce took a gulp of air, as if he'd been holding his breath, and let out an audible sigh of relief. He seemed to slump a little as the tension left his body. He said, "Thank you, Chuck." He sounded like he really meant it.

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A/N2: The names and code names of the Fulcrum agents come from the list eventually obtained by Team B in Chuck vs. The Fat Lady.

A/N3: So, a sextant out of two pencils and a rubber band. That's a real thing. In the Northern Hemisphere the angle between the North Star and the horizon is your latitude (the measure of how far north or south you are). If the North Star is directly over your head, a 90° angle from the horizon, you are at a latitude of 90°, the North Pole. If the North Star is on the horizon, a 0° angle from the horizon, you are on the Equator. Any two straight sticks connected to each other at one end and sighted down, one pointed to the horizon and one pointed to the North Star, will give you that angle. So long as you don't move the sticks relative to each other after the sightings, you can measure the angle against any sort of protractor or compass rose (or even a clock) and obtain an approximate latitude. Longitude isn't so simple.

A/N4: Canon never did adequately explain Bryce's seemingly inexplicable and contradictory behavior. I have tried to do so. I am forever indebted to Zettel, David Carner, Vurich23, and Beckster1213 for their guidance and patience as I struggled to make some sense of what was a pretty difficult set of actions to reconcile. How'd I do?


	54. Chapter 54

A/N: If you insult a claimer, have you dissed him or her?

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"Chuck just saved your life, Agent Larkin. Say thank you," said Graham.

Bryce took a gulp of air, as if he'd been holding his breath and let out an audible sigh of relief. He seemed to slump a little as the tension left his body. He said, "Thank you, Chuck." He sounded like he really meant it.

Casey grunted and stepped forward. He began to untie Bryce's wrists.

Graham said, "So, now we have to decide what to do with you. Now that I've decided to trust you, I mean. You are in a very special but very dangerous spot, Agent Larkin. You are our only lead to Fulcrum."

"Sir, I want to fight them. Give me a chance. Give me Chuck and Agents Walker and Casey. Together the four of us can take the fight to them. They won't know what hit them. You've already said this is the best team you have in operation. Adding ...another agent will only make it better. I have experience working with Agent Walker and I'm best friends with Chuck. It would be a great mix, Sir. We'd be unbeatable."

"I understand that was your plan, but I have something else in mind. Agent Larkin, we need to focus on the one thing that makes you so special right now. The one asset you have brought us that no one else can match."

"What's that, Sir?"

"They trust you. They think you are one of them. You can operate from the inside. Get close to the top people. Obtain information for us that no one else can. I'd like you to keep up that façade, at least for the time being. It is incredibly dangerous to be undercover with these people. Every one of them is a trained spy and killer and the littlest mistake can give you away. And if that happens you won't die easily. Will you do it? Will you go back under? I'm not going to order you to. The assignment is much too dangerous for that. If you are going to do it, you'll need to volunteer."

He looked at the others. "And this team?" he asked, gesturing at Sarah, Casey and Chuck.

"Working the same problem from the outside as leads develop. You know as well as I do that you can't take all three of them with you undercover. That would never work. Particularly Chuck, who's original reason for being on the team at all, proves that you've been lying to them for the last two months."

"How about just Agent Walker, then? We worked together very well and can do it again. I could take her under with me. Tell Delgado that I recruited her to Fulcrum."

Graham didn't even turn to look at her, but if he had he'd have noticed that a quick flash of revulsion passed over her face. "Yes, you could do that, but I'm loath to break up her new team. General Beckman and I are treating them as a single unit for the time being. So, if you do it Agent Larkin, you'll be on your own. As you've been since March."

He thought for a few moments and said, "Yes, Sir. I'll do it."

"Good. Do you have a way to re-connect with them? To get back under?"

"Yeah. I can get in touch with them. Once I get back with them, what's my mission, Sir?"

"Disrupt their plans as they go along, when you can do it without endangering yourself or your position. But the real mission is to get a list. We need to identify who is part of this conspiracy so we can eliminate them. The list of Fulcrum personnel is the goal. They've got to have one. Once you have that, disengage immediately and come out. I'll take it from there."

"Yes, Sir. I'll get that."

"I'm calling this Operation Thirty. The only people read in will be the five of us and General Beckman. So far as the rest of the Intelligence Community is concerned you are either still dead, or, if the rumors of your resurrection are to be believed, once again rogue and in the wind. There will be no written record of Operation Thirty maintained for the time being. You'll still have a burn notice out on you. I can't get you more operational security than that."

"Yes, Sir. Before I leave, I'd like to spend some time with Chuck to get an understanding of how the Intersect works. If I'm going to continue faking that I have it, I should know..."

"No. Bad idea, Bryce," said Chuck. "You won't know the underlying facts or connections. If they test you to flash on something they already know, you will fail the test. Since the damn thing is essentially an experiment anyway, they won't know if it worked any more than you would. Why not just tell them it was a bust? That it gives you headaches, but no new information. There are no other test subjects they can ask. If they figure out I have it we've all got a ton of trouble. We know they had one scientist involved in the Intersect project..."

"Which one?" asked Bryce. Chuck glanced at Graham, who nodded his head.

"Zarnow, but he's dead. They might have more. Don't know. They'll assume we are trying to make it better...to perfect it, get it to work, but in the meantime they can think it didn't do shit for you. That it just doesn't work. Saves you from having to pretend when you won't have any real flashes to rely on. You can act eager to get it right the next time. To try again."

"Yeah, that makes sense. It's certainly a better plan now that I know that they are as in the dark as I've been about the effects and operation of the program," said Bryce.

Graham said, "I want you to set up a system to communicate with this team, Agent Larkin. In case there are plans we can stymie and you have to let us know somehow. Also, a distress flare if you are in trouble. These will be the people to pull you out if you are stuck and in danger. It can work the other way too. If we learn something and decide that we need to pull you out, we have to be able to tell you."

"That's not going to be easy, Sir. They are all trained spies. They will know all the communication tricks I know. We all learned from the same teachers."

"Yes," said Graham, "I can see that..."

"Let Bartowski come up with something," said Casey. "He never learned the lessons we did. He automatically thinks outside the box because he's never been taught the box. It's one of the reasons we've been so successful so far." He turned to look at Chuck. "What do you think, kid? How would you contact Bryce anywhere in the world if he can't use a burner or check a normal email account?"

After thinking for a few moments, he said, "Bryce, check Granger's Video Game Message Board for … Call of Duty discussions and a thread on weapons. Look for a message from ...Worf. I'll leave any message for you in Klingon. If we need you to pull out, it will just say 'Sup'."

"Jump," said Bryce. "Ok."

"If it's a more complicated message I'll do my best to hide its meaning from other Klingon speakers."

"Ok, if I have anything to tell you, I'll post a picture on the same board under the name...Sam Wilson. Do you have a high megapixel camera you can lend me? More than I would have on my phone?"

"Sure...ah, I get it." Chuck grinned. "Like that time sophomore year. Yeah, that should work."

Bryce grinned back at him, "Exactly." For the first time, Sarah was able to see that the two men were, or at least had been, friends.

"Hang on, I'll get it for you." Chuck left the room and was back in a minute with a digital camera and charger. "Here you go."

Bryce put the camera with his other gear on the counter. "You can do the same. I assume you can get another camera?"

"Sure, that's easy. But, Bryce," said Chuck, "if you are in real trouble a distress flare like that might take too long. We might not get to you quickly enough. You should take normal contact info too, in case you can use that safely."

Bryce gave one of his insouciant smiles and said, "I will, buddy. If I have to cry for help, though, I'll just have to deal on my own until you can make it to wherever and save my ass. You'll manage, Chuck. I trust you. You've never let me down. Not once."

"I'd be delighted to share your confidence, but you are relying on me so it's a little harder to do."

"He's relying on us, Chuck," said Sarah. "All of us. We'll get to him if he needs us."

"Thank you, Sarah," said Bryce.

Graham said, "Ok. I'll leave first and take my security guys with me. It's even more important now that they don't see you." Graham shook his hand, "Good luck, Agent Larkin. If you can pull this off...well, just don't die trying."

"Yes, Sir. Not part of the plan."

"I'll walk you out, Sir," said Sarah.

"Good," said Graham. He shook hands with Casey, "Good to meet you, Major"

"You too, Sir. I like the way you work."

"Thanks, Major." He turned to Chuck. "Next time I'm around, Chuck, we'll spend more time," Graham said, shaking Chuck's hand.

"Looking forward to it, Sir."

Sarah and Graham walked out of Casey's apartment together. Sarah said, "Chuck and I are taking the apartment across the courtyard. That one." She gestured at the door.

"So, the whole team will be living here? Hummm. You know, you guys need a proper base of operations. Working out of Major Casey's apartment is a poor substitute and not fair to him. Beckman and I will get on that. Get you guys someplace with decent facilities." They approached Barker. "Jerry, you remember Agent Walker, right?"

"Certainly. Agent Walker, good to see you again." He gave her a pleasant smile as they shook hands. "You and your team are the talk of Langley. Every time I turn around you've pulled off another big win. Congratulations. You're doing good work out here."

"Thank you, Agent Barker. Rumors do tend to exaggerate though."

"Agent Walker, show me the new apartment you and Carmichael will be taking," said Graham.

"Sure," she said, removing a credit card from her wallet.

"We'll just be a minute, Jerry."

"No worries, Boss."

She jimmied the door lock with the card and entered the empty apartment with Graham. The paint had been stripped from the walls and the painter's gear and drop cloths were stacked against a wall, ready to apply a fresh coat of paint but unused on the day after Thanksgiving. Sarah closed the door behind them.

Once they were alone she and Director Graham stopped and smiled at each other. As happy as she was, she thought of what she wanted to tell him and became a little embarrassed. The look she wore was, essentially, as if she had lost an argument to him, but was happy to lose the argument.

He raised an eyebrow in a question. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and said, "I'm in love. I'm in love with Chuck." She was smiling so hard now that she started to giggle a little. "Head over heels, crazy, think-of-nothing-else in love." She threw her arms high and waved them about like a little girl, laughing.

He laughed quietly with her. Then he spread his arms out wide reaching for her. She walked towards him and wrapped her arms around his massive chest. He hugged her and kissed her gently on the top of her head, lightly stroking her back. He murmured, "It's about damn time. And it looks to me like you picked a winner. I think he's pretty great too."

Her voice was muffled by his chest as she said, "You going to say, 'I told you so'?"

"Nope. I'm just happy you finally got your dad out of your head. He put some toxic shit in there, Sarah."

She snorted a little into his chest, hugging him tight. She said, "Thank you."

Sighing, he said, "We don't get to do this often enough."

She said, "Well, yeah. You're my boss. It's inappropriate. Like nepotism, sort of."

"Well, everybody already knows you're my protégé, but it's the family part that would surprise folks."

"Yeah," she stepped back, breaking the hug. "I miss you guys. Sorry we couldn't make Thanksgiving this year. It would have been awkward with Ellie and everything."

"I understand. I figured that would be the answer. But we missed you, too. Your dad's warnings about making friends...you know that was just bullshit, right? As much bullshit as his telling you not to fall in love? Your dad messed you up. You have to break out from his influence, Sarah...I know, I know...I'm a broken record on this stuff."

She chuckled slightly, "Yeah, a little. But I'm in a different place now. I'm listening for once. Chuck has...changed me. Changed the way I look at things..."

"Well, good. So, call Karen, will you? She misses you. She's got all kinds of romantic drama in her life just now and she misses talking to you. You're the only big sister she ever had and you went and disappeared on her."

"I will, I promise," she looked a little chagrined at her own behavior.

"And Kevin's kids have heard about the elusive Aunt Sarah. The little one's never even met you. And Jimmy hasn't seen you in years. Who knows what he remembers?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No apologies necessary. Just re-connect. Kevin wants to talk flying with you. He's flying the B-2...well, now he's flying a desk in the Pentagon and totally pissed off about it... but when he goes back in the air, he's got the B-2." He shook his head. "Sarah, you got it into your head years ago that you can't have civilian friends. That was a holdover from your dad. On the run constantly, living one lie after another, changing your whole identity when you got to the next town, it wouldn't be safe or comfortable to make real friends. I understand. You have a different life now..."

"I know, but a spy can't..."

"No, Sarah. No. That's still bullshit. Of course, we can. Listen, there were five of us in college. Me and my four buddies. They are still my best friends, all civilians. Every year we go away for a week, ten days. Every year. At first it was beer and babes. Now it's wine and golf. Eventually it will be prune juice and shuffleboard. They all know what I do for a living and have all along. We just don't talk about it. It's no big deal. You can do that too. You can have friends. What ever happened to that girl you lived with at school? Rachel something?"

"She went to law school. She's at a big firm in New York now."

"You ever talk to her?"

"No. I've been thinking about it..."

"Well, give her a call. Tell her you've fallen in love, for God's sake. Can't you just imagine her reaction?" He was grinning at the thought.

Sarah started to laugh again. "Yeah. She'll want to hear all about it."

"So, do it, Sarah. Call her and call Karen. Introduce them to Chuck. You are allowed to have friends. They are required for your mental health. Chuck is good for you. He's getting your head straightened out. I'm really delighted for you. Anna's going to be thrilled. You'll be able to hear her squeal from here."

Sarah laughed lightly and said, "She'd get along really well with Chuck's sister, Ellie."

"Sounds like she's become a friend too," he said.

"Yeah. I really love her too. Like another sister," Sarah said. She looked down and away from him for a moment and then said, "It's a great family."

He said, "You seem to be in a really good place now. I'm happy for you, Sarah."

She moved in to another hug and said, "Thanks."

He kissed the top of her head once again and said, "It's all good. Come visit us the next time you are back east, ok? And bring your guy. The family will want to meet him."

"Will do." She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "Now, come on. If we stay in here longer, Barker is going to think I'm stepping out on my boyfriend."

Graham chuckled as he headed to the door, "Now that would improve my reputation at Langley. I'll have to think about how to start that rumor."

She stopped before the door and said, "Game faces."

He stopped smiling and said, "Yup."

They put on their serious faces and walked out. As they approached Barker, Graham said, sternly, to Sarah, "You need much better security. It's got all the security of an old lady's apartment. The locks suck."

"I know, Sir. We're going to take care of that after we get possession. Don't worry."

"Ok, Agent Walker. See that you do."

She reached out her hand and said, "Thank you for your help today, Director."

"Glad it worked out. You have any problems, you give me a call."

"Yes, Sir. Have a good flight. Good to see you again, Agent Barker."

"You too, Agent Walker. Take it easy."

Sarah went back into Casey's apartment as Graham left Echo Park with his security men. Chuck and Bryce were looking at the screen of Chuck's laptop and pointing at something. Casey was making a new pot of coffee.

"Yeah," said Bryce. "Like that..."

"Sure. That would work."

When they saw Sarah, they broke off. Bryce said, "I've got to go. Back into the lion's den."

He moved towards the door. "Later, Casey." Casey grunted.

"Bye, buddy," said Bryce extending his hand to Chuck. Both men understood the significance of the gesture. A measure of forgiveness.

Chuck seemed to pause a moment or two before reaching out to take Bryce's extended hand. "Good luck," he said, shaking the hand.

Bryce turned to Sarah and said, "Goodbye, Sarah. We'll always have..." He saw the look on her face and seemed to stammer a little. "...have...ummm...Good luck with this team..with Chuck."

Nodding, she said, "Good luck, Bryce." They didn't shake hands.

CIA Agent Bryce Larkin left.

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Tommy Delgado walked into the Fulcrum safe house in Los Angeles with his pistol in his hand. He moved carefully towards the living room, listening closely and alert for any threat. There was nothing but silence. When he got to the living room, he found Larkin sitting in any easy chair in the dark. On the side table next to him was a bottle of Irish whiskey and a glass of ice. From the level of liquid in the bottle, Larkin had been there for a while.

Neither man greeted the other. Larkin barely looked up. Delgado holstered his pistol and walked past Larkin, into the kitchen area. He found a glass. He filled it with ice and walked back into the living room, taking the seat next to Larkin. Larkin pushed the open bottle towards him without a word. The moving bottle made a slight scratching noise on the table, but that was the only sound in the room. Delgado poured a couple of fingers of brown liquor over his ice and took a sip.

He settled back into the seat cushions as the whiskey burned its way down his throat to kindle a small fire in his belly. He said, softly, "It's a woman, right? It's why you ran. Why you came out here when you escaped from them in Brooklyn."

"Yeah," said Larkin, quietly.

"Your old partner, Walker?"

"Yeah."

They sat quietly for almost a minute. "No chance?" asked Delgado.

"No. She's found someone else," said Larkin, after pouring himself another drink.

"Well, to be fair, she did think you were dead," said Delgado.

"Yeah. I don't blame her. It is what it is," said Larkin.

"There are other women, Bryce," said Delgado.

"Not like her," said Larkin with sadness and resignation.

"Well, then," said Delgado. "Here's to Walker." He raised his glass towards Larkin.

"To Walker," said Larkin quietly, clicking glasses with Delgado.

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A/N2: During World War II MI-5 (the British organization in charge of internal security) ran a number of double agents against the Germans. They were controlled by the Twenty Committee. "Twenty" as in the Roman numeral XX, standing for a double cross. As Fulcrum agents are already doubles, Bryce is intended to be a triple agent. Hence, Operation Thirty. XXX.

A/N3: I'd like to encourage visitors to this site to sign-up. It's free and they don't hassle you with spam emails or anything. You can get email alerts when a new chapter of your favorite story drops. And when you leave a review with a question or idea, I can actually respond to you with a private message. Some of you visitors have some great ideas and I'd love to discuss them with you. Also, don't forget to join the Facebook Chuck fanfiction group page. It's a great place to discuss the stories we are all reading here.


	55. Chapter 55

A/N: Welcome to the ninth arc of New Day based, very roughly, on Crown Vic. The Kirk arc. (And not the Captain, although that would be cool, but it would be a crossover, so you wouldn't be able to find it here.) Thank you all so much for following along on this seemingly neverending story. I really do appreciate it. Several of you have asked me how long I intend this story to run. The honest answer is that I have no idea. I will keep writing it as long as I'm having fun, and I'm really having fun. So, for the time being, I'm just going to keep going. Oh, and, you all know I don't own Chuck, right?

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"Chuck. Sarah," called Ellie.

"You go ahead, sweetie. I'll be along in a second. I'll just finish this shelf," said Sarah. Chuck thought she looked as beautiful as she had ever looked, in jeans and a tee shirt with minimal makeup. She seemed to light up the room just by being there.

Chuck said, "Ok," gave her a quick kiss and left his room to head to the kitchen and answer Ellie's call.

Sarah closed the box and taped it shut, writing BOOKS on the top and sides. She picked up the next box on the pile and took the last bunch of books from the shelf. She stopped herself suddenly and began to flip through one of the books she held. A slow smile came to her. She put that particular book aside and put the others into the empty box. The one she had set aside she tucked into a large inside pocket of the jacket she was wearing, with a smile and a soft chuckle.

Chuck and Ellie were in the kitchen discussing plates and cookware. Although Devon was working today, the rest of them had off from their jobs (and cover jobs). Shopping for furniture and household/kitchen items was on the agenda.

Sarah closed the box, taped and labelled it and made her way to the kitchen. Ellie was saying, "No, you take it. You can use it for the chicken pepperoni you make."

"But then you'll have to go out and buy one..."

"No, I can use this," she held up a similar piece of cookware.

Chuck wrinkled his brow, "Are you sure...?"

"Yeah. No worries. You take it." She put it with a pile of cookware near a packing box.

"Ok, Sarah's here. We can finish this later. Let's go," said Ellie.

"Thanks, again, Ellie," said Sarah. "I really appreciate your help. I have no sense of style."

"Nonsense. You always look perfect," said Ellie with a smile and a wave of her hand.

Grinning, Sarah said, "Thanks, but I meant furnishing a place. Buying ...I don't know...a couch. What's a nice couch? Does it go with the table? Is leather better than upholstered? You know, stuff like that."

Laughing, Ellie said, "Oh, like I do? All the stuff here is mismatched because we got it cheap a little at a time over many years. Hell, we didn't even get this apartment until I started to make actual doctor money. You should have seen the place we had before. Ooowwww, I'm so happy for you two. Taking that place." Ellie clapped her hands together and bounced a little to express her happiness.

"I'm excited too. I can't wait to have you as a neighbor. To be here all the time. And to live with my sweetie all the time," she said, running her hand through Chuck's curls.

Chuck took her hand from his hair and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. He said, "I can't wait either." He looked into her beautiful blue eyes with all the love he had in his heart. That's when a dish towel pelted him in the face.

Ellie said, "Come on, you two. If you get started doing lovey dovey we'll never get to IKEA before the rush."

"Ok, coming, Sis," said Chuck, laughing and dropping the towel on the counter.

"Do you have to get the car keys from John?" Ellie asked.

"Nope. He's already given them to me," said Chuck, holding them up. Neither the Nerd Herder nor the Porsche would fit the boxes of disassembled furniture they intended to buy and Devon had taken his and Ellie's car to the hospital already. Casey had loaned them the Crown Vic for the day with a strict warning about what would happen if it received even a minor scratch.

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"Ok," said Ellie. "Here we go. You need a couch, a love seat, a coffee table, an end table and a lamp. Right? That's what we decided last night."

"Yup," said Sarah. "The rest of the stuff we can take from Chuck's room or from you guys lending us some stuff."

"Giving. We're giving you that stuff," said Ellie. "And you know you don't have to take everything from Chuck's room. You could lose that Tron poster, for example."

"Hey, dad gave me that Tron poster," said Chuck.

"Oh, yes," said Ellie, sounding contrite. "Sorry, Chuck. Of course."

"We keep the Tron poster, Sweetie," said Sarah. She leaned forward and whispered to him, "I have some wonderful memories we made while I was looking at that poster."

Chuck turned red and mumbled, "Oh, yeah. Uh, good. Yeah." She giggled a little. He was so easy to set off, even after all these months.

So, they started to search the store. Sarah was excited and happy. Chuck was mostly quiet, content to observe his sister and girlfriend as they moved about the large store and discussed the various pieces. After ten minutes, all the furniture began to look the same to him. As the morning went on, a pattern became clear. Ellie would comment on a particular couch or table and Sarah would find something wrong with it. Over and over again. Even Sarah began to get a little annoyed with her own reactions, a little frustrated. Her good mood had evaporated. She became a little snappy.

Eventually, Ellie gave her a long look and said, "Chuck, go get a cup of coffee or something. Ok?"

"Uhh, sure, Ellie."

Once he had gone, Ellie said, "Ok, Sarah. What is it?"

Sarah was upset at the process, but was trying not to show it. "I don't know. I'm frustrated. There's nothing here I love. Nothing that's perfect. It has to be perfect," she said with a little desperation in her voice.

"I know, but we looked online at the other stores. Even with the holiday sales, this is the place you guys can afford right now. As you save your money you can replace this stuff with nicer, more expensive stuff, but for starters..."

"I know we talked about it. I know. It's just that now, faced with it. I don't know...I just...I want it to be perfect...I want it to be perfect for him. I want our first...first..." Without much warning, Sarah started to cry.

Surprised, Ellie wrapped her in a hug and said, "It's ok. It's ok."

Sarah was wracked by sobs, "No, no, no...it's ...home...first home...I want ...first home..."

"I know, honey. I understand. It's ok. You want your first home with Chuck to be perfect..."

"No, Ellie...No...first home...my first home...this will be my first home...with or without Chuck...this will be my first home..."

Hugging her, Ellie was suddenly glad that Sarah couldn't see her face, because she showed all the shock that such a declaration might engender. Sarah's first home? What did that even mean? How could she not have had a home before this? Where did she grow up? Foster homes? Ellie knew by now not to ask. She had never asked and been rebuffed, but Sarah had tiny "tells" when she was uncomfortable. Ellie noticed things like that and knew not to ask anything about Sarah's past. But if this was to be her first home? Holy shit, no wonder she was freaking out a little.

Ellie took a deep breath. Ok.

Ellie pulled back from the crying woman and smiled at her as brightly as she could, "Ok, in that case, we are definitely going to make it perfect. Tell me exactly what you want and we're going to find it for you."

Through her tears, Sarah smiled a little and said, "I'm sorry for being such a difficult shopper."

"Nonsense. You have every right to be. It's your money, you should get exactly what you want. So, let's get started for real now. No more Ms. Nice Shopper. I'm going to call one of those store people over to us, whip out a pair of handcuffs and keep them with us until we furnish your new home. And if they try to get away, God help them."

"Thanks, Ellie," said Sarah, wiping her eyes with a bit of tissue.

"I'll call Chuck back and we can let him watch how a couple of pros do it."

Grinning now, Sarah said, "Ok, Dr. B."

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Chuck said to Morgan and Lou, "You have no idea what Sarah and Ellie can be like when on a mission. They got a second wind and ripped through IKEA like you've never seen. They had the sales people scurrying around like ants by the time they were done. They ordered us stuff from other IKEA stores that they didn't carry in this one. They got everything we needed for the new place and even brow beat the store into including everything in the sale package. I thought Ellie was going to make the store manager cry."

Lou laughed and gave Sarah a high five, "Way to go, Sarah. You and Ellie rock, girl."

The two couples were having dinner at O'Malley's. Ellie had the night shift at the hospital and couldn't join them.

"Do you have to build it all?" asked Morgan.

"Yeah, most of it. We're keeping the boxes in a corner of the apartment now. We'll build them after the new year, when we can move them into the new place. No sense in building them now just to have them take up room until we move," said Chuck.

Jackie O'Malley came over to their table. "Hey, guys. Everything good?"

Sarah gave him a happy smile and said, "Just great, as usual, Jackie. Thanks."

Jackie said, "Terrific. Hey, Morgan, I tried that new dry rub recipe you gave me ..."

Lou said, "What was that one, oh bearded one?"

"Oh, it's the best, Lou. Salt, pepper, paprika, brown sugar, cayenne, chili powder, cumin and coriander. It's great on steaks. But, Jackie, from the look on your face, I'm thinking I led you astray."

"Yeah, dude. I'm not a fan. It tastes bitter when it's done. Not at all what I thought."

"I'll bet you burned it. It's the sugar. If you use a direct heat, like searing the steak, it will burn and get bitter. You want to put in on the part of the grill with indirect heat, so the sugar caramelizes rather than burns. It takes a little longer, but..."

Like most spies, Sarah kept multiple phones on her at any one time. Different groups of friends and colleagues had different numbers. As Morgan and Jackie were in the middle of a discussion regarding the ideal temperature to grill meat coated in Morgan's dry rub, one of Sarah's phones rang. It was the one whose number she only shared with close friends. "Hello."

"Hi, Sarah. It's Mei-Ling. Is this a good time?"

To Chuck, Morgan and Lou, Sarah mouthed 'Sorry' as she got up to step outside the restaurant. Into the phone she said, "Sure. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yes. All good. I'm working, but nothing scary for a change."

"Me too. Between missions. How's Lee doing?" asked Sarah, stepping out into the cool night air.

"He's good. The Lo Pan business increased his profile with his bosses. He's in New York now. Still with the UN, but in a slightly higher role. He loves his job. Fen went with him and they're living together now. He's in one of the mission's apartments on the East Side."

"Oh, that's great. Tell him we say hi...tell them both. Can she get a job as a nurse in New York?"

"She's working on it. I think there's some kind of procedure to transfer her license. It takes a few months, or so I'm told."

"Good for her. She was terrific. I liked her a lot," said Sarah.

"Yeah, I agree. I kind of hope he settles down with her," said Mei-Ling. "I wouldn't mind her as a sister-in-law."

"I'll bet. Chuck and I are moving in together, by the way. We're taking the apartment across the courtyard from Casey's. We were out shopping for furniture today."

"Oh, that's great. Good for you both. Tell him I said to be nice to you, or else."

"Oh, don't you worry. He couldn't be nicer. Things are great with us."

"Sweet. How's Casey?" asked Mei-Ling.

"He's good. Same as ever. Not seeing anyone, if that's what you were asking."

"No. Wasn't really asking that, but thanks anyway. Tell him I said hi."

"Will do," said Sarah.

"So, Sarah, I am actually calling about business," said Mei-Ling.

"What's up?" asked Sarah.

"Have you ever heard of Rashan Chen?"

"Umm. Taiwanese. Right? Rising politician. They are mentioning him as a possible presidential candidate in the next election there. Pretty far to the right, I think. He was mentioned in an article about how some governments, countries, are moving rightward."

"Exactly," said Mei-Ling. "Very far to the right. He's just retired from the Army with the rank of General. A real hawk. Pushing for a much harder line against my country. Like, mining the Strait of Taiwan, that kind of hard line."

"Shit. That's insane. That would lead to war," said Sarah.

"Yeah. And would you guys jump in to defend Taiwan? Who knows? We are looking at the possibility of World War III. The guy's halfway nuts. Your country is officially staying out of it, has no position on the him or his potential candidacy. Unofficially, they are as worried about this guy's rise as we are. The status quo isn't ideal for anybody, but it's better than a shooting war."

"Ok. I'm guessing if this is business, then you want to share something about Chen," said Sarah.

"Yeah. I was doing some work and came across evidence that Chen is financing his political rise, at least in part, with counterfeit American dollars."

"Damn. You'd think we would be the last folks he'd want to piss off," said Sarah. "If it hits the fan with your country, he'd be relying on us to come to his rescue."

"Yeah, you would think so, but his ego is mammoth. He's got to be thinking he'd never get caught."

"Hubris. It makes our jobs so much easier," said Sarah.

"So right. Always. Anyway, I'll email you what we've got. You can hear it yourselves."

"For attribution? Are you authorized to share?"

"Oh, yes. My bosses approved my passing this on to you. As I said, this guy is a pain in the ass to both our countries. We'll be just as happy for you guys to bring him down. Saves us from having to."

"You worried about sources and methods?" asked Sarah.

"No. I scrubbed out any of the data that you could have used to compromise any of that stuff. That's actually why I wanted to speak to you about it. Without that data, the provenance is unknown and you could discount the veracity of the information. I wanted to tell you that I personally have high confidence in the information."

"Ok. How damning is it?" asked Sarah.

"Audiotape of Chen and one of his lieutenants making plans to get some new printing plates to their presses. It mentions Mojave and someone named Lon. Don't have any more clues about Lon, but Mojave is obviously the desert east of you. The conversation is in Mandarin, so I'm sending you both the original and my translation."

"Ok. It's a good start. Our Secret Service is top notch. If there's bad money out there, I'm sure they are already investigating. This lead should be very helpful. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Good luck with it," said Mei-Ling.

"I'm sure my boss will thank your boss," said Sarah.

"Good news for both our careers," laughed Mei-Ling.

"So true. So, uhh, I finally told Chuck that I love him."

Mei-Ling laughed again and said, "Come on. He knew that already, Sarah. It was so obvious."

"Well, that's what everyone is telling me, but still..."

"But still, it's nice to say it, I guess. I'm so happy for you, Sarah. So happy for you both."

"Thanks. Come back and visit soon, huh? Be good to see you again."

"Be good to see you too," said Mei-Ling. "Not so easy for somebody in my line of work to go see Disneyland, though."

"I understand. Maybe I'll bump into you in Macau or something."

"Yeah, or something. Take care, girlfriend," said Mei-Ling.

"You too. Bye."

"Bye," said Mei-Ling.

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A/N2: Anybody who misses Jeffster stumbling around bikini clad women on a yacht, please leave a review. Anybody who doesn't, please leave a review. You know what? Just please leave a review.


	56. Chapter 56

A/N: I don't own anything, including the Magic Hotel and Casino. Especially the Magic Hotel and Casino.

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First man: Good morning, Sir.

Second man, more gravelly voice, sounding older than the first man, his voice firm and confident: Good morning, Captain. How was your trip to Chaiyi?

FM: Successful, Sir. I spent the entire day with the engravers. In my judgement, they have done a wonderful job. The new plates seem flawless. I looked at them under a microscope and could find no problems.

SM: Even the microprinting at the corner?

FM: Yes. And the microprinting on Franklin's coat as well. It came out perfectly.

SM: Excellent. If they are as good as you say, give the men an additional 50,000 dollars.

FM: There is no need, Sir. The men are patriots and eager to assist you.

SM, chuckling: No, Captain, even when the troops are loyal, a good leader treats them with generosity for extraordinary performance. Heavens knows these men are of more worth than the fools who cracked the last set of plates.

FM: Very well, Sir. I will take care of that. Would you like me to bring the plates to the Mojave facility immediately?

SM: No, we are going on the junket in a few days. We can take them then. A separate trip will just attract attention we can't afford during the campaign. With these new plates we can print another five or six million more in US notes. That will put us just where we wanted to be.

FM: Yes, Sir. That buys a great deal of TV and radio time. With your campaign ads on all the stations, your message will be everywhere. The people will rally to your banner.

SM: Yes, but it is our banner, Captain, not mine alone. We will lead our country to the safe place it deserves in the world and blunt the threat to our west. Tell Lon that the new money will be coming shortly. If he continues as efficiently as he has been, he will be able to move it in the course of a month...maybe six weeks at the outside. He should be busy over the American Christmas holiday. That should work perfectly for us. We can start the new year with a nice cash reserve.

FM: Yes, Sir. I will bring the plates with me when we go over. And I will call Lon this afternoon. Do you think he will continue to cooperate?

SM: He had better, Captain. He is very aware of his fate if he does not. Now, if you have not eaten already, let us order some breakfast.

The recording ended and Mei-Ling's voice translating the men's conversation fell silent.

Graham said, "Agent Cho's translation was entirely accurate. They are making up fake hundreds and someone named Lon is helping them move the money."

"Your Chinese is still good, Director," said Beckman.

"Good enough," he replied with a shrug.

Beckman said, "Agent Walker, since your team caught this lead from the MSS, you will be running with it. First things first, you will have to contact the Secret Service and share this information. There may very well be an ongoing investigation. You should coordinate with them. I believe you have had a posting with the Service in the past, Agent Walker, so they will be familiar to you."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Sarah. "Do we know who we should be in touch with at the Service?"

Graham put on his reading glasses and looked at a tablet he held, "Yes, Agent Kendler in Los Angeles..."

"Pat Kendler?" asked Sarah, a little surprised.

"Ummm," he was still looking at the tablet, "Yes, that's right."

"I'm familiar with Agent Kendler. We'll reach out this morning," said Sarah. She looked pleased at the prospect.

"Very good. Couple of more things before you go," said Graham. "First off, you will want to know that Frederick Reynolds and his sister Beatrice have been relocated to Wyoming and he's begun treatment at the facility. So far so good."

"Thank you, Sir. That's good news. He's a good man and deserves a decent chance," said Casey, expressing all of their feelings.

"No problem, Major. It's going to be up to him, though. You know as well as I do that the success rate at these programs is …. well, it's challenging."

"Yes, Sir."

"Also, I have a small assignment for you, Chuck. When we questioned Payne, he talked about this new truth serum he was trying to buy from Volkoff. SP-117. Volkoff's man cheated him on the sale...gave him the toxic version of sodium pentothal instead..., but the intel is that the Volkoff organization does actually have SP-117 for sale. We'd like to get a sample to analyze. Can you have your man Gobrienko liberate one for us? I don't think we've put him to work yet. This sounds like an easy one."

"Ummm, Sir, why don't we buy it?" asked Chuck.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's for sale. Why don't we just buy it from him...from Volkoff. I mean if Gobrienko steals it to give to us, we are putting him at risk. Maybe not a lot of risk, but risk nonetheless. He's a pretty valuable asset. It doesn't seem right to put him at risk for something we can just buy from him without any risk."

Graham started to laugh. "You learn fast, Chuck. I should have anticipated your point of view. You are thinking like a true handler, concerned about your asset's safety. Just the way a good handler would judge the situation. Ok, contact your asset and get the price. I'll see about freeing up the money, assuming the price is reasonable. If the deal is going to go down, you can set up the buy with your team and get it done." He looked at Sarah and Casey and said, "You two are training him well."

"Naw, Sir. That's all Bartowski. It's just the way he thinks," said Casey with a small smile.

"Ha. You're a natural, Chuck. Keep it up," said Graham.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll contact Yuri right away," he said.

"Good luck, Team," said Beckman, breaking the connection.

"Ok," said Chuck. "I'll get on to Yuri."

"And I'll contact Kendler and make an appointment," said Sarah.

"That leaves me with the breakfast dishes," grumbled Casey.

Sarah patted his arm, "I'll help as soon as I get off the phone."

Chuck took out his laptop and went onto the Internet. He was always very careful when communicating with Yuri. He knew that Yuri's life was in danger every minute and wanted to do absolutely nothing to increase the risks the man was running. He opened Tor, a free online system that allowed anonymous searches by routing any of his activity through more than seven thousand relays.

From there, he went to the anonymous email account he had set up under Tails (The Amnesiac Incognito Live System), a further security based system that utilized Tor and was similarly available free of charge. Although emails sent to and from Tails accounts were supposed to be untraceable, he had never sent an email from the account and it had never received one, but nevertheless this was how he had been communicating with Yuri. Without any traffic, there was nothing for a curious agency (or Volkoff) to monitor even if they could get through the multiple layers of security from both Tails and Tor. He opened a draft email that had been saved, but never sent. The email was quite long. Yuri would access the same account and the same draft email. They would communicate with each other simply by expanding the draft email and saving it again in the "Drafts" folder when done, rather than actually sending it.

Chuck opened the draft and read the most recent message from Yuri.

 **Hey, Chuck. Want to thank you for getting that medicine for my mom. It worked well and she's recovering. It's what I told you that time in the courtyard. Family is the most important thing. Come visit Moscow sometime soon. Well, maybe not soon. Maybe in the spring. The weather now is unlikely to be to your liking, my California friend. Best.**

Chuck typed.

 **Hey, Yuri. Glad to hear mom's ok. Let me know if you need more of the medicine. It's pretty easy for me to get. Question for you. How much $ to buy a sample of SP-117 from Volkoff? We hear interesting things about it and would like to get some to test it. With the price, I can get the money approved. Thanks. Stay warm. Remember that vodka doesn't actually make you warmer, it just makes you not care that you are cold.**

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The Los Angeles field office for the United States Secret Service is located in an office building on South Figueroa, an otherwise inconspicuous building in downtown Los Angeles housing law firms and accountants. A tall Christmas tree decorated the plaza adjacent to the building.

Chuck, Sarah and Casey parked the Crown Vic in the lot across the street and made their way up to the offices for their meeting with Agent Pat Kendler.

Once off the elevator, they were greeted by the five pointed star which served as the emblem of the agency. The reception area was like office receptions everywhere, the only difference being that the men and women walking around with their jackets off were conspicuously armed. An agent greeted them and requested that they follow him.

They were taken to a conference room with a view of neighboring office towers and CA-110 below. There were five agents in the conference room, three men and two women. One of the women broke away from the group and approached them with a smile. She was of medium height with short brown hair. The woman agent moved with the wiry strength of a long distance runner, which she gave every appearance of being. She was in her late 50's and was very tan with intelligent brown eyes.

She took Sarah's hand in her's warmly, "Sarah. So good to see you again. How have you been? You look great." She stood back for a second and studied Sarah frankly and said, "Actually, you look more than great. You look fantastic. Radiant. What's going on?"

"Hi, Pat. Thanks. You look great yourself. Let me introduce you to my team. This is Chuck Carmichael. He's sort of a CIA/NSA hybrid analyst. Chuck, this is Pat Kendler."

He shook her hand, "How do you do?"

"Good to meet you, Carmichael. Your reputation precedes you."

Chuck murmured a "Thank you," looking a little embarrassed.

"And Major John Casey, NSA," said Sarah.

"Major," said Kendler, shaking his hand.

"Agent Kendler," he said.

"So, Pat, why are you here? You were DC based the last I saw," said Sarah.

"Yeah, but the protection details involve tons of travel. You know that. Every time the principal leaves DC, we go along. It's fun and exciting for a young agent. But I'm getting close to the thirty year mark now. It's exhausting. You never know what freakin time zone you're in. I wanted a more nine to five job, maybe with less travel, so last year I asked them to move me to counterfeiting investigations."

"Why LA?"

"My daughter lives here now. She's about to give birth to my first grandchild. I wanted to be around them, maybe more than I was when she was growing up. Bert retired last year. Another couple of years and I'll join him. He's taken up surfing, of all things."

"Oh, that's great, Pat. I'm happy for you," said Sarah.

"How about you, Sarah? Things still good with the Agency? Graham treating you ok? You know if you're unhappy, I'm the one to call," said Kendler.

"Still good, Pat. But if that changes, you'll be the first to know," said Sarah.

"Excellent. Now come on, we have work to do," said Pat, taking Sarah's arm and leading her over to the other people now seated at the conference table. "Listen up, team. This is Sarah Walker. CIA. Director Graham put her with us for a year about three or four years ago. She's solid and good people. She still holds one of our records in Delta Force's Killing House. This is Major John Casey, NSA. And this is Chuck Carmichael. You've all heard of him from the bomb in Union Station a couple of months ago."

There was a rustle from the agents at the table at the mention of Carmichael. Chuck blushed a little bit. He wasn't at all used to the looks of respect he was getting from the Secret Service agents. It had only been a few months and he still deep-down thought of himself as some weird visitor to this world, rather than a man respected by its normal denizens. But he admitted to himself that as strange as the feeling was, he definitely liked it. He made a mental note not to get used to it, though. He was only there because of the computer program housed in his brain.

Kendler concluded to her team, "So, look alive, people. You're playing with the varsity." Casey moved to the side of the conference room and got black coffee for himself and waters for Chuck and Sarah.

She introduced the others around the table and everyone sat down. Kendler said, "Ok, Sarah. You're up. What did you guys find for us?"

While the introductions were being made, Chuck had opened his laptop and wirelessly connected it to the giant TV screen along one wall. He pulled up a photo of Rashan Chen and, upon Kendler's invitation to begin, began the audio recording of Chen's conversation. When the name "Lon" was mentioned one of the agents murmured "Sonofabitch."

When the recording ended, Kendler said, "Play it again, please." Chuck did so.

When it ended the second time, she said, "Who is the translator?"

"Can't tell you that," said Chuck. "Sorry."

"But you trust the translation?"

"Yes," Chuck said.

"When was this recorded?"

"A couple of days ago, we believe," said Chuck.

She nodded with understanding, "Ok. Who are the speakers?"

"The older man is Rashan Chen." Chuck gestured to the picture of General Chen on the screen. He was a middle aged Chinese man looking fit and serious in his bemedaled Army uniform. "Recently retired from the Taiwanese Army with the rank of General. He was the commander of the Aviation and Special Forces Command. He's just beginning a political campaign and hopes to be the next President of Taiwan. Their election schedule runs on the same cycle as ours. It's early for calling the odds, but he's certainly in the running and is a strong contender."

"Yeah, with bad US money financing it," said one of the agents bitterly.

"Yeah," said Chuck. He changed the photo on the screen to that of a younger military man wearing the three bars of an Army Captain's rank. "We believe that the other man is Captain Chang Li-fu. An ex-Special Forces commando, also recently out of the Army. He had worked closely with General Chen while they were in service and is part of his campaign staff now. They will be bringing the printing plates in to a facility in the Mojave Desert and someone named Lon is moving the fake money for them."

"Lon Kirk. The owner of the Magic Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Billionaire. Very politically connected. Just held a big fundraiser for Romney. We have been circling him for a while, but never had enough evidence to prove that his casino was involved. This evidence is a very big deal. It means that not just the casino is involved, but Kirk himself personally. Holy shit," said Kendler, clearly weighing the importance of the news. "We traced back a number of the fake bills to Vegas and believed we had narrowed it down to the Magic. A few months ago, we put a man undercover into his operation. The man disappeared without a trace." As she was speaking, Chuck did a quick internet search and pulled up Kirk's picture to display on the screen.

"Don't casinos have procedures...tools...to make sure that there are no counterfeit bills?" asked Sarah.

"Absolutely," said Kendler. "The counting machines double as scanners. Spit out anything that doesn't pass muster. Then there are separate ultra-violet scanners to check the bills. All of their people are trained to detect fake money. If Kirk is the one passing the money, though, all those procedures are in the wrong place...are checking the wrong money. Casinos don't want to GET fake money. They don't check that they aren't GIVING fake money out. Damn it."

One of the agents asked, "Can we use this tape? Is this good evidence? Where'd we get it?"

"Nope," said Sarah. "Not good in a court. We trust the source, but can't disclose it. Won't work in court as evidence."

"What kind of a facility do they need to print that kind of money? I mean now we know roughly where it is. Would it stand out?" asked Chuck.

"If they print in sheets of 50, $6,000,000 in hundreds is only...1,200 sheets. Not that much. You need both an offset printer for the background and regular intaglio printer for the rest of the features. Maybe another round of printing for things like the serial numbers. You could do it in a big garage or a small building with a decent power supply. Add a high-quality cutting machine, the whole set up would hardly take up any room at all. You wouldn't need a factory or anything like that," said Kendler.

One of the agents said, "Still a mystery how they get real paper. We're looking into that as well."

"Maybe this new information will help," said another agent, hopefully.

"Maybe they didn't get new paper," said Casey. "Don't they have a security thread in them that shows up under UV light? Why can't they just bleach out the ink on a lower denomination bill and print over it to the hundred? It'll still have the thread."

"Aww, that's the kind of crap thriller writers pull, ones that don't bother do their homework. Doesn't work, because we are smarter than that. The strip is on a different place for each denomination," said Kendler. Casey grunted. "We keep changing the bills to make them harder to counterfeit and they keep adapting. We rolled out a new $20 bill last year and are bringing out a new $10 bill next year. A new hundred is on the agenda, but not for a while. It's been going on forever. One of the problems with this crop of fakes is that the paper is flawless. It's impossible, but, like we said, they seem to have gotten some of our own hundreds paper."

"Aren't there still the older bills in circulation without all the bells and whistles?" asked Casey.

"Yeah," said Kendler, "but the last redesign of the hundred was eleven years ago. Most of them have been taken out of circulation by now."

"So, if these are so good, how can we tell that these are fakes at all" asked Chuck.

"They are careless with the serial numbers. That's one thing, but that won't show up on a scan or simple visual check. The real flaw is that they haven't gotten our ink. On the hundreds we use a special optically variable ink, OVI, a color shifting ink. From one angle it looks green, from another it looks black. They are just using green ink in place of that. Very hard to spot. The other colors they have duplicated very well, it's the OVI...lack of OVI, that gives them away. These guys are making some excellent fakes. Very hard to detect. And if they have a casino distributing the fakes... all that cash...it's a pretty comprehensive operation."

"So, what's the plan with these assholes?" asked Casey.

"We'll do the forensic accounting on the money flowing in and out of the Magic Casino now that we are certain it's involved. If they are moving fake money, he's got to be cooking the books to account for it. We'll also watch for Chen and his junket to come in with the new plates. I'm going to guess he'll be staying at the Magic. We'll want to follow them to the presses in the desert," said Kendler.

"Ok. Makes sense. We aren't cops, though, and can play by different rules. My team and I will head to Vegas and see what we can dig up on Kirk. See if we can infiltrate his inner circle somehow," said Sarah.

"Sounds good, Sarah. Each team playing to its strengths."

"Damn right," growled Casey.

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A/N2: Anachronism alert. Tor was in existence in 2007, but Tails was not yet developed. But if you want totally safe (or as safe as we can get) email communications, and you don't work for the NSA or the CIA, these are the smart choices today (2019). Der Spiegel, the German news magazine, reported that in 2012 the NSA dubbed Tails a major threat to its mission. If true, that's quite an admission.

A/N3: The US Army counter-terrorism unit known as Delta Force runs a state-of-the-art facility in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, informally called the Killing House, to train for close quarter combat and hostage rescue. To be collegial, they permit the US Secret Service to train there from time to time as well.

A/N4: No dig at Lee Child intended. His book with bleached paper re-printed counterfeit bills pre-dates the inclusion of the security thread.

A/N5: These are some of the known security measures for the $100 note as of 2007. Not all of the security measures, though, were (or are) shared with the general public.

A/N6: Love to hear from you guys. Fill in the box below and let me know how I'm doing, please. Anything you guys are interested in seeing in Las Vegas at Christmas-time? I'm thinking dealers in Santa hats.


	57. Chapter 57

A/N: After all this time, I still don't own Chuck or Sarah or anything interesting really.

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As you drive along I-15 into Las Vegas from Los Angeles, the nighttime glow of the Las Vegas Strip is visible for miles before you can actually see the lights of the City themselves. New York's Times Square is renowned for the size and vibrancy of its signage, but the Strip is a serious rival, especially seen at night. There was one bright sign after another doing their best to lure in the passersby to the restaurant, hotel, casino or other attraction on offer. Driving along the Strip after sundown, it seemed as bright as day. The hotel/casinos of the Strip were themselves legendary. With the Bellagio, the Venetian, the recently opened Wynn, the Magic, and the Mandalay Bay, the luxury high-end experience had exploded onto the scene. No longer the inexpensive destination, the hotels now catered to the wealthiest of clientele and did their best to attract the high rollers, known in the parlance of Las Vegas as the 'whales,' to their tables.

Smack in the middle of the Strip, with luxury hotels on either side, was Kirk's Magic Hotel and Casino. There was a forty foot tall Christmas tree centered beside the entrance portico. Many of the establishments had themes for their design and operation. Kirk's theme was magic. Paintings of top-hatted magicians and conjurers were prominently displayed. A ten foot tall statue of Harry Houdini was the centerpiece of the cavernous marbled reception area. Someone had perched a Santa cap on top of Harry's head. The different rooms for meetings and banquets were named for illusionists from history or present day – Houdini, Copperfield, Blaine, Agrippa, Blackstone, Thurston, and a half dozen more. The theaters offered one magic themed show after another.

The parking valet took the Porsche and Sarah and Chuck, arm-in-arm, crossed the lobby to the reception desk. The hotel was full of a holiday crowd and the reception area was bustling. Chuck was dressed in a well-tailored Armani suit and an open necked white shirt without a tie. Sarah wore a short black cocktail dress that showed off her long legs. The receptionist had their reservation (arranged by the CIA admin section) and offered to have the bellman take their bags to their suite. They followed the bellman through the casino towards the elevators to the rooms. Chuck was to discover that the only way to get between any two points in the hotel was through the casino.

Their covers were Charles Carmichael, rich young software mogul, and Sarah Walker, his girlfriend. His bodyguard/assistant had been delayed enroute and would be arriving shortly. The suite they had reserved had two bedrooms with beautiful views of the lights of the Strip. Each bedroom was complete with its own luxury bathroom (with a huge sunken whirlpool tub). The bedrooms were joined by an enormous living room which included a dining room table that could have hosted a large board meeting. Chuck tried to look unimpressed and sophisticated for the sake of the bellman, who he tipped generously with the CIA's money, but in truth he had never seen such luxury. Charles Carmichael was a high roller and would not have been uncomfortable with the arrangements. Chuck Bartowski, on the other hand...

Sarah took out her cell phone and called Casey, who was still on the road. He was not about to drive the Crown Vic at the borderline insane speeds to which Sarah took the Porsche. He estimated that he would arrive at the Magic in about 45 minutes, having hit some traffic outside of Barstow. Sarah told him the suite number and that they would be there waiting for him.

Chuck was busy setting up his computer and syncing it with the gigantic TV so that they could use it for...

Sarah wrapped her hands around his belly from behind and nuzzled the side of his neck. He could feel all the firm curves of her beautiful body on the back of his body. Then she took his earlobe between her wet lips and sucked on it for a few moments. She whispered into his ear, "I could use a bath. Want to try that cool looking bathtub with me?"

"Bath...yes,...bath is good...a bath is good...yes...let's bath...Uh, uh...bathe..."

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The DD Steakhouse in the Magic Hotel was supposed to have superb steaks, at least if the reviews were accurate. They settled down to the table.

"Security cameras everywhere," said Casey.

"It's a casino, Case. Every inch of the place is covered. You see the mirrors over the gaming tables? One way glass. There are catwalks above with security guys patrolling there too," said Sarah.

"Huhhh," he said. She was right. In addition to the cameras, there were uniformed guards both throughout the casino and guarding the elevator entrances to the hotel rooms. Without the key to your room, you wouldn't pass to the elevators. Casey had had to double back and obtain a key at reception before he could pass to get up to their suite.

They studied the menus and ordered. A filet mignon for Sarah. The porterhouse for two, for Chuck and Casey. A handful of side dishes.

"Ok," said Casey. "What have you got for us, kid?" On the drive from LA, when he wasn't squealing in terror, Chuck had done the research on Kirk. He had waited until they were all three together to give them the download.

"Lon Kirk was born in 1947, when his dad got back from the war. The family name had been Kirkorian, but the dad changed it when Lon was four for some reason of his own. Dad ran a series of bingo parlors in New Haven, Connecticut. Lon was a smart kid and a good student. He got a scholarship to Brown, where he studied history. Then he got a scholarship to Yale Law School. He did one year and dropped out of law school when his dad died unexpectedly. He began to run his dad's business and discovered that the business was over half a million dollars in debt. Turned out he had a head for business. Within five years, he had turned it around."

"Sounds like a pretty admirable guy, so far," said Sarah.

"Yeah, it does. But when we dig just a little bit behind the shiny bio fed to potential investors we get a slightly darker version. He had married young, but there were rumors of affairs almost from the beginning. And one of the men his dad had owed money to was killed in an alleged mugging attempt. His heirs settled the debt for pennies on the dollar. The homicide investigators looked to Kirk as having a motive, but could never find enough evidence. He moved with his wife to Las Vegas in the 70's, soon after that incident. Things started to expand for him here.

"He bought an interest in the Borderlands Casino and began to run it for the other owners. He did very well and eventually bought out the others. He had made a very solid connection with the owner and president of the Las Vegas Fields Bank, a local bank. That bank began to finance his further expansion. As the bank was a good partner to him, he has also been loyal to them. He used them when he sold the Borderlands Casino and bought the Paradise Casino, when its prior owner died in a plane crash. His first marriage ended in divorce at about the same time."

"Messy?" asked Sarah.

"Nope. No kids and his ex-wife has never said a word in public about him since then." said Chuck.

"Non-disclosure agreement, probably," said Casey.

"Yeah. That's likely," said Chuck. "He remarried soon after to a woman in her early twenties who had been a hostess in one of the Borderlands cocktail lounges. Wife number two.

"Anyway, he spent lavishly on the Paradise and eventually sold it for five times what he had bought it for. The analysts estimate that he personally made over $600,000,000 profit on the sale. Since that one, he's been the darling of Wall Street, but he's still using the Fields Bank. They aren't big enough to handle his loans themselves anymore, but he uses them as the syndicating bank."

"What's that mean?" asked Casey.

"It means they put together a pool of banks that, as a group, lend the money to the borrower...to Kirk. One bank will be the lead bank, putting the group together and getting paid extra for originating and administering the loan. It's done when the loans get too big for one player. Spreads the risk around. Given the size of his deals, Fields is making tons of money from the guy. As I said, he's loyal to them. At this point he could buy the bank with his pocket change, but still uses them. Similarly, he uses a local law firm and local insurance brokers."

"Keeping the business local. Must make him a popular guy in town," said Casey.

"Yeah. I expect it does," said Chuck. "While he was still running the Paradise, he developed the Magic from scratch, from an empty lot. He poured money into it to make it the most luxurious on the Strip. Soon after the opening of the Magic, wife number two got a divorce. Like number one, she's never said a word about him afterward. There is no wife number three.

"He's been expanding outside of Vegas for the last few years. He opened a Magic Casino in Atlantic City and is getting close to an opening in Macau for a huge Magic Hotel. He's been back and forth to Macau multiple times."

"Any connection to Taiwan?" asked Sarah.

"Not that I can see, but he could have been stopping in Taipei to and from Macau. I couldn't say," said Chuck. "Seems gambling is huge in Macau. His Magic Casino in Macau will be his largest yet. It's going to have 2,900 suites. Only the Venetian Macau, which just opened there a couple of months ago, will be larger, with 3,000 suites."

"Macau is the closest we're coming to Taiwan. We should look into that more. Chen was pretty clear that Kirk is acting under duress. They must have something on him. My guess is it's the Macau casino," said Sarah.

"Makes sense. He's got a ton of assets tied up in it. Seems to be a lot of his own money, if the investor's prospectus can be believed," said Chuck.

"Anyway, he gives to a bunch of charities. A lot of local stuff, but national ones too. The Red Cross. American Cancer Society. Pretty vanilla. It's his political contributions that are more interesting. Tons of money. Mostly Republican, but not entirely. He's been a big contributor to the last few mayors of Las Vegas, all Democrats. Nationally, though, he seems to support the Republican candidates. He supported W last time around and is supporting Romney this time. His fund raiser for Romney was several weeks ago and raised over a million for the candidate."

"Any hobbies? Anything like that?" asked Casey.

"Not that I can see. All he seems to do is work. He even lives upstairs in the penthouse on the roof." Chuck pointed to the ceiling over their heads.

"Well," said Sarah, "he likes women. Married twice. Any girlfriends?"

"Nope. At least none I found," said Chuck. "We'll have to give some thought to an 'in' with him. Something to get us through the door to approach him."

"No shit," said Casey. "We drove all the way out here. We'll have to figure something out."

"Speaking of that drive, I don't mind admitting, Case, that I was a little worried about getting a ticket on the highway. Not so much because we were going so slowly, but more because we were holding up the people behind us."

Sarah smirked a little bit and her blue eyes sparkled.

"She's got the car for it, Moron. What did you expect her to do?"

"I don't know. Stop and see what's to see? I tried to get her to stop and see the world's largest thermometer in Baker."

"Oral or rectal?" asked Casey.

Sarah had been taking a sip of her water when Casey asked that question and blew it out in a spray as she laughed out loud. Chuck, laughing as well, said, "You know, Casey, I don't know why everybody says you're not funny."

Casey smirked a small smile and said, "Vegas brings it out in me, I guess."

"I love Vegas," said Sarah. "It is a city with a sense of humor about itself. It is completely ridiculous and knows it's completely ridiculous and doesn't care. It's so much better than...I don't know...Orlando. Orlando is completely ridiculous and is totally serious about it. You will have fun in Orlando or else." She shook an accusatory finger. "Vegas knows it's all a goof and just grins. It's a great town."

"I don't like to gamble," said Casey. "Never took to it. I'll play cards with friends sometimes, but this stuff..." he gestured to the casino visible outside the doors of the restaurant. "...not for me."

Sarah said, "Smart man. This whole place is designed for the sole purpose of taking your money. You don't win at these games. Sure, people can walk away winners, but they are the stories people tell because they're rare. Man bites dog. This place, the Strip, makes billions of dollars a year. And not by giving the players a fair chance to win. The house always has the edge. That's what created this entire town. Remember that they make the rules of the games you are playing. Think about that for a moment. If you show up here to get rich, you're crazy."

Chuck said, "Even roulette, if you bet red or black, you'll only break even in the long run."

"Nope. You won't. Remember that they make the rules. There are two green spots. So, the odds of red or black are less than 50-50. Don't try it. Not with any hope of actually winning. Even if you play by their rules and are just too good, they will ban you from the place. They don't want winners here, just losers."

Casey said, "The ones who make the money here are the casino owners."

"Remember the gold rush? Who made the money there? The guys selling the shovels. Here there are a number of folks who can make money off this nonsense. Hell," she started to laugh a little, "the signmakers alone are probably rolling in it."

"Sounds like you've given a lot of thought to this place," said Chuck. "When was the last time you were here?"

"Yeah...well..." Sarah was quiet for a little bit after that and then she said, ignoring the question, "Guys, after dinner I'm going to go out for a bit to talk to some people. By myself. I have an idea to get a lead or two on Kirk, but it's something I have to do by myself. Alone. It's not dangerous, but I can't bring you guys."

Chuck and Casey exchanged a look. Chuck said, "No."

Sarah said, "What?"

"I said no. We are a team. You don't get to go off like that. We will have your back."

"Chuck, you can't let your feelings for me get in the way of the mission. We have..."

"He's not," interrupted Casey. "He's not reacting this way because he loves you. He's reacting this way because he's right. We are a team. No lone wolves here. That's what we used to be like, you and me both. We aren't like that anymore...at least not while this team is together. If you want to go on a one man op, fine, but we go along too, behind you to give you back up. We will have your back. It's not negotiable. Neither of us are letting anything happen to you. If I told you I was going to go off on a jaunt of my own you would both jump my shit too, and you'd be absolutely right. Same if Chuck said it. It's not what we're going to do. It's not how this team operates. Remember when Carina decided to stay with Alahi to get the diamond? We were awake all night outside his compound in case she needed us. We're not doing any less for you, for God's sake." He spoke calmly, but there was no missing the strong conviction behind his words.

"Guys..."

"Sarah, you were right. I do love you. More than anything in the world. But think about it for a minute or two and you'll realize that Casey and I are right too."

She was silent for quite a while chewing on what they had said.

From an operational point of view, they were clearly right. Back up is always the best policy. But she had her reasons for wanting to avoid that policy in this instance.

Chuck knew that she had killed people and had told her he was proud of her for it. But he didn't know everything that she had done in her life. He loved her and was a kind, forgiving man, but some of the things she had done...might be hard to forgive. She knew she would have to tell him eventually. Tell him about her past. Her childhood...her lack of a childhood...what she had done with her father, done over and over again. The people she had hurt and stolen from. Innocent people. The part of her life that was her deepest shame. It was the discussion she indicated to Bryce that she had already had, but hadn't. The one that scared the hell out of her.

What if he knew everything about her and saw her differently? What if that changed his feelings for her? She knew she would be totally destroyed if he no longer loved her, shattered beyond any hope of recovery. Their love for each other had remolded her completely. If that ever changed...No. She couldn't go there. She couldn't think about that. She wouldn't think about that.

To take them along tonight, where she wanted to go...they would ask questions, they would be curious. She wasn't ready to, but she'd have to explain...

Letting out a long breath, she said, "I have two conditions. Ironclad conditions. If you both don't promise I will not go out. I won't go without you, but I just won't go. We'll try to do things differently with Kirk...differently than what I had in mind."

"What are the conditions?" asked Chuck.

"What we do tonight, who we talk to, does not go into any report either of you write. And neither of you asks me a single question about it. Now or ever."

"Agreed," said Casey, immediately.

Chuck looked at her for an extra moment or two and said, nodding, "Sure. Ok."

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A/N2: Wouldn't that be a cool casino theme for a Vegas hotel/casino? I think it would be fun to have magicians wandering around the casino floor doing card tricks while the dealers were taking your money with the real cards. Just an idea. If someone here wants to take it and sell it in Vegas, that would be fine with me. Just arrange for me to drink free at the bars, please.


	58. Chapter 58

A/N: Think any of the folks who do own Chuck read what we are all up to here? I doubt it, but it's sort of fun to think about.

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Chuck, Sarah and Casey were dressed in jeans and wearing jackets to protect against the nighttime temperature in the 40's when they parked the Crown Vic across from a bar called Frank's Garage. An "r" in the sign was not working so they headed to Frank's Ga age. It was on the outskirts of town, right up to the desert. The wind was cold and blowing light dust across the dark pavement. This far from the city's lights, stars were visible in the desert sky.

Although Sarah had indicated that their destination was not dangerous, not only had she and Casey come armed, but she hadn't objected when Casey made Chuck carry a trank pistol.

The building was freestanding with a small parking lot next to it. There were a couple of small neon signs in the dusty, fly-specked windows advertising Budweiser and Fat Tire beer. Someone had hung some Christmas lights in the window and they sagged against one of the neon signs.

Sarah opened the door to the bar and they were greeted by cigarette smoke, conversational hubbub, and quiet music. There were about thirty or forty people in the bar. A sad looking topless woman in a g-string was dancing by a pole on a stage in a desultory manner. No one was paying any attention to her. Maybe that's why she was sad. There were a half dozen slot machines off to the side of the bar without any players. As they entered, all discussion stopped immediately and everyone turned to look at them. The tension rose and seemed to thicken the air. Even the dancer stopped swaying her hips and just stared at them. Chuck wondered what the hell they were doing here, but he trusted Sarah. He assumed this was some old contact from a previous CIA mission, but that didn't quite make much sense with her warnings of secrecy.

A very large man in a black leather vest stepped up to them menacingly. Casey growled at the man, but Sarah ignored him. She was looking around the dimly lit room. Apparently spotting the person she was looking for, she stepped around Vest and walked confidently across the room. Chuck and Casey followed, Casey glaring at Vest who glared back with equal ferocity.

Sarah arrived at a table towards the back of the room. Seated at the table with a cup of coffee was a fat man in his mid to late 50's. He had a burning cigar gripped between two fingers and was looking at some papers on the table. They were greeted by the smell of a strong cologne. He had a bad combover trying and failing to cover his bald scalp, glasses so thick that they magnified his eyes, and an open necked Hawaiian shirt. He looked up without interest as they approached. The lack of interest was feigned, as he was doubtless aware of the change in the atmosphere of the room.

Sarah said quietly, "Hi, Sid."

Sid stared up at her with newfound curiosity. Then he began to frown a little as he studied her more closely. Sarah didn't move, just stood there meeting his gaze calmly. His inspection of Sarah stretched. Suddenly his eyes opened wide in surprise, looking huge behind the thick lenses. He threw his arms open wide towards the ceiling and stood up so abruptly that he overturned the chair he'd been sitting on, which fell with a bang. He bellowed, joyfully, "NANCY." Chuck and Casey, standing behind Sarah, exchanged a quick look.

Sarah leaned forward and whispered something to him. Keeping his arms raised, he bellowed, "SARAH." He shuffled around the table and gave her a hug, being careful not to touch her with the lit cigar.

In an instant the mood in the bar eased. People turned back to each other and continued the conversations they had interrupted. The dancer began to sway her hips once again, although she didn't look any happier.

Sid put his hands on Sarah's shoulders and stood back, looking at her from head to toe and grinning. "Damn, girl. You grew up nice. Look at you. Hot damn."

Smiling at him, Sarah said, "Thanks, Sid. You haven't changed a bit."

"Well, that sucks. I'm still the same fat slob, I guess."

Sarah said, "I'd like you to meet my friends, Chuck and Casey." She gestured to show which was which. "Guys, this is Sid Gold."

"Hey, guys," he said, shaking hands. "Siddown," he said, gesturing to the other seats at his table. He put the papers away in a briefcase at his feet, righted his chair and sat himself.

Vest came over with a big smile, showing crooked teeth. Laying a friendly hand on Casey's shoulder he said, "Hey, guys. Didn't know you were friends of Sid. What can I get you? On the house, to make up for the unfriendly welcome you got on your way in the door."

They ordered three Fat Tire Amber Ales. When Vest walked away to get their beers, Sid said, by way of explanation, "They thought you were cops. Casey looks the part."

Casey grunted and nodded with a shrug, to indicate that he recognized the truth of the statement.

"Don't like cops?" Chuck asked.

"Not so much," said Sid. He turned Sarah. "How's you dad?"

"He's away," said Sarah smoothly. Sid nodded in understanding, although neither Chuck nor Casey understood.

'Her real dad?', wondered Chuck, knowing he couldn't ask, but a little stunned by the idea. She used the present tense, so he was alive and was apparently friends with Sid. Where was he away to? Sarah's dad? He realized that his feelings were a little bruised by her insistence on keeping secrets from him. They had professed their love for each other and were moving in together, but there were still huge parts of her life that she didn't feel she could share with him. He trusted her and was sure that she had good reasons, but he knew that deep down, he was a little hurt by the doors she had kept closed. The moment he had that realization, though, he mentally chastised himself. This was exactly what he had signed up for. She had made this aspect of her personality, her life, abundantly clear to him right up front. He'd be foolish to take umbrage at it now. To do so would be tremendously unfair to her. He resolved to act on his trust and not even ponder the questions that might develop from this meeting with Sid. She'd tell him when she was ready to. Or not.

Sarah gave Sid a look, which he understood meant that he ought to watch what he said. He nodded again.

"So, Sarah, what you been up to?"

"This and that. Back in town for a few days and thought I'd see an old friend," she said.

Vest returned with three bottles of beer and a fresh cup of coffee for Sid, taking the old one away. When he had left, Sid said, "So happy you looked me up, girl. Don't know if you need a job, but I've got a couple of things going on. Could use a hand. The money's decent...but you look like you're doing pretty well now on your own."

"Don't need the gig, but thanks anyway, Sid. My friends and I are doing a thing of our own and thought I might be able to impose on an old friend for a little local gossip."

"How much?" he asked.

"There's no money involved, Sid. It's not that kind of thing," she said.

"No money?" he said, with obvious surprise. Sid studied Sarah for a few moments. Behind the thick glasses his eyes were calm and intelligent and he was obviously thinking hard. Giving his cigar a long pull, he looked at Casey and Chuck with quiet consideration and back to Sarah, exhaling a plume of smoke to the side. He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little bit at the taste and said, "Decaf. I don't sleep as well as I used to." He looked at Sarah quietly for a little longer and finally said, "Gamekeeper now?"

"Kind of. It's complicated," she said.

"I'm in a little bit of a mind freeze here, to tell you the truth. Can't get over you being all grown up now. I'm not talking to a girl any more. You're a grown woman."

Sarah shrugged, "Time passes, Sid. Things change."

"What do you need to know?" asked Sid, after a further moment's internal deliberation.

"Tell me about Lon Kirk and the Magic," she said.

He leaned back and gave a long sigh, shaking his head, "No, no, no, girl. Do not look at him. Pick someone else in town to mess with. Do not show an interest in this guy. He's a really bad man, Sarah. A really bad man."

"Tell me. Please."

"Look, this town was started by mobsters. They were business men. You knew where you stood with them. You paid them and they did what you paid them to do. There was violence, but it was the typical broken leg stuff. The bodies in the desert, yeah, but only other mobsters. This guy is fucking cold blooded, but with a white hot temper, to mix my metaphors a little. He doesn't even use any of the normal tough guys. He uses military guys like him," Sid gestured towards Casey. "They come at you like it's Iraq or Afghanistan or something. Coordinated. Heavy weapons. Nuts to bring that shit here. He's so well connected in town though everybody turns a blind eye."

"Guys in his employ?" asked Casey.

"No. Contracted out," said Sid.

"Do you know what outfit they are hiring to do that stuff?" asked Casey.

"Yeah. Group called The Blackman Group, led by a psycho named Tony Blackman. Calls himself Colonel Blackman and only hires vets. No idea if the rank is legit. With two wars going on right now, there are a lot of vets with combat experience out in the job market. They are based out near Goodsprings, just south of here. Got a big desert compound. Shooting range, barracks for the unmarried guys, guns out their asses. Scary dudes. The story is some guy tried to rip off the Magic and these dudes beat the poor schmuck half to death before turning him in to the cops. There are other, darker, stories though. You know, the bodies in the desert kind of story. Not good guys."

Casey looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something about bad stuff done by vets, but he held his tongue.

"Got any bad habits? A drinker? Drugs? Anything like that?" asked Sarah.

"Nope. Nothing like that," said Sid.

"Is he losing money? In trouble with wiseguys? Overextended?" asked Sarah.

"No. The Magic makes tons of money for him. He's got bucks. Wall Street seems to like the guy. His shares are trading well. You know about the Macau thing?" Sarah nodded. "Got enough investors for it. He's a prick, but he's not running the casino into the ground, if that's what you're asking. These things make a ton of money. You'd have to be a total idiot to bankrupt a casino."

"Would he cut corners to make more money?"

Sid thought for a few moments and shook his head. "Probably not. Not worth it. He's making enough as it is. He'd cut corners out of anger or revenge or some other base emotion...but business, I doubt it. Unnecessary and just not his style."

"Other than the new development in Macau, any other overseas involvement? Russia? Europe? China outside of Macau? Licenses on the cruise ships? He sniffing around anything like that?"

"Not that I've heard."

"Ok. What about his love life? He's not married. Any girlfriend?" asked Sarah.

"No. Nobody steady. Again, at least not that I've heard, and I pretty much hear everything there is to hear," said Sid, after a moment's pause.

"I know, Sid. Some things don't change," she said with a smile. "He hire any of the local talent to get his rocks off?" asked Sarah.

Sid looked a little uncomfortable and seemed to squirm a bit before answering. "No. None of that. He has his girls flown in from either coast. Special order kind of thing."

"Seems expensive. Privacy issues? Doesn't want word getting out?" asked Sarah.

"No," Sid grimaced. He fiddled with his coffee cup and looked at her with an odd expression. He shrugged. "Well, like I said before, you're a woman now." He sighed. "No, Sarah, none of the local girls will go near him. No matter what he pays. It's not a money thing. He has a bad rep. He's into kinky shit. You know...the S&M stuff."

"That's not that uncommon. Lots of people play around with that stuff," said Sarah, with a shrug.

"Not like this," said Sid. "He apparently gets carried away. Really hurts the girls. Like hospital hurts. Happened to the local girls a couple of times and word spread. None of them will go anywhere near the son of a bitch. They don't give a shit what the money is. That's why he's got to get girls from far away, someplace where they don't know what they are in for."

"Jesus Christ," said Casey, grimacing with revulsion. "A bad man."

"I don't kid around, Casey. He's a really bad guy. You three should stay away from him."

"You know, Sid, I kind of think we shouldn't," growled Casey. He looked very scary when he thought about going after Kirk now that he knew more about him.

"Damn right," said Chuck quietly and seriously.

"Why is he so tough? What's he hiding?" asked Sarah.

"His big secret? Dunno. Small dick? His mom never liked him? He just gets off on it? I dunno. All I can tell you is he's got a bad rep in town. Guys like me stay the hell away. Ain't worth it. There's easier marks around. I've been around here a while and he's always had that rep. From the time he got here thirty, forty years ago. Rumors are he offed some guy back east before he ever made his way here. Crazy for a guy like him. So successful, you know? Hangs around with the President for shit's sake. You know he just raised a mil for Romney, another cold-blooded New England boy, if you ask me."

"We want an in, Sid. What do you think?"

"Well, looking like you look now you could use that angle, but I sure as shit hope you don't do that, honey. I really do." Chuck really hoped not too.

"Ok, another way, then. When's his next fundraiser? Someplace we can press the flesh and schmooze?" asked Sarah.

"I don't know. Those are probably invite only...not that I expect you'd have trouble with that part. You want to get close as a stranger, just roll into his casino as a big spender, though. That always gets his attention. Has a cocktail party for the whales on Wednesday and Saturday nights and attends whenever he's in town. Drop some coin at the tables. Get his attention. Get the invite. I don't know what your budget is, but maybe you can manage. Sometimes you gotta spend money to...oh, right, no money for you in this...well, you know..."

Sarah smiled at him, "Yeah, I do. One last question, Sid. Do you think he's transferred the old facial recognition files from the Paradise to the Magic?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: Had some Fat Tire beer last night and certainly recommend it.

A/N3: Sid was referring to an old English expression. "Old poachers make the best gamekeepers." He was asking Sarah if she was a cop now. As Chuck and Casey didn't know that Sarah (when her temporary name was Nancy) used to be a "poacher" they might not recognize the reference. On the other hand, they are pretty smart guys.

A/N4: Am I the only one who thought it was weird that a billionaire, in canon, would have polite guys setting up a missile launch for him? Who were those guys? And he wanted to fire the missile himself? Because he never liked Chen? He wanted to murder a boatload of people personally, because he never liked one of them? What kind of a billionaire was he anyway? Seemed to me that we needed to fill in quite a bit of background on Lon Kirk. Sid called Blackman a 'psycho,' but the description seems to fit canon Kirk pretty well too.


	59. Chapter 59

A/N: In the movies people always bet unorthodox things at the card tables. Think we can get anyone to bet the ownership of Chuck?

A/N2: That master of spy fiction, Ian Fleming, centered an entire book around a card game at a casino (Casino Royale). I'm not nearly that ambitious (or talented).

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was Tuesday morning, and Sarah, Chuck and Casey spent much of the morning in the extensive gym in the basement of the Magic Hotel. After a warm up, they began with weightlifting (using free weights). Casey was much stronger than Chuck was, but Chuck was gaining strength quickly and, at least according to Casey, was maintaining good form in his lifts. Casey seemed proud of him, or maybe just satisfied. It was hard to tell. They ended their workouts together with a three mile run around the Strip.

After a late breakfast, they took the Crown Vic out to Goodsprings to check out the Blackman Group compound, but the drive-by didn't give them any particularly useful information. There was a locked gate with a uniformed armed guard and nothing else to see from the road. Chuck had used the time in the car to learn about Colonel Blackman, looking in the Defense Department files which were open to him with his Federal clearances. Tony Blackman wasn't a Colonel at all, which Sid had suspected. Three years earlier, he had been dishonorably discharged from the US Army having held the rank of Sergeant. He had taken an Iraqi banker in Baghdad and tortured the man into opening his vault for the cash inside. The Army had quietly thrown him out. Seems he'd reinvented himself in Nevada using an innate talent for marketing. He had obtained private security contracts in Las Vegas and several other western cities, had put the money from the contracts into infrastructure and staff, and had grown his business quickly. Undoubtedly, Kirk would have been a huge client.

Casey said, "I could show up looking for a job."

"Case, you wouldn't even let me go out last night to meet Sid without you guys covering me. You really think we'll send you in there?" said Sarah. "There would be no way we could help you if things turned to shit. It's a neat idea, but way too dangerous."

Given the position he had taken the night before, Casey found it hard to argue with her. Anyway, she was right.

Back in the hotel suite, Sarah called Pat Kendler and told her that they were at the Magic and that Kirk had a rep as a violent man in town and that he beat up prostitutes. Kendler could use the information however she needed to. In turn, Kendler told her that Chen and his party were in the air from Taipei, destination Las Vegas. Also, that the Service was looking into the angle on the hundreds paper in the new light cast by the Chen connection. Each wished the other luck.

Once that call was out of the way, they ordered a room service lunch and sat in the suite's living room to talk. Chuck had swept the suite for wireless bugs the night before and it was clean.

"Ok, Chuck. We need to get an invitation to that cocktail party tomorrow night, so Carmichael is going to be a high roller tonight. The CIA has staked you with $100,000 of taxpayer money, and we have to figure out how to best use it. Are you familiar with casino games?" asked Sarah, holding a pack of cards.

"I little. I've never been to a casino, but I've played Reel Deal Casino Shuffle, the video game. I'm sort of decent at it. I've played blackjack, poker, craps, roulette, a bunch of the slots from the game. It's fun."

"Ok, we'll focus on blackjack, as that's one where, if you are smart and careful, you can actually win against the house. In any event, even if you lose, you can play for a while. You know the rules already from the video game, but let me refresh them for you. You play against the dealer, not the other players. Get 21, or closer to it than the dealer does, without going over. Going over is called busting. Face cards are 10, Aces are 11 or 1, all others are their number. You place the wager and then two cards are dealt to each of you, face up, and the dealer (forget the other players for now). One of the dealer's cards is face up, so you will know that one immediately, but the other one, the hole card is face down. If you get a face card and an ace, you win and get paid one and a half to one – a dollar fifty won for each dollar bet. If your two cards are less than 21, you have the choice of taking one or more additional cards. There are mathematical formulas for figuring out the odds of when to hit, to take more cards, or not. If you have a face card and a seven, for example, you need either an ace, a two, a three, or a four to get to or closer to 21 without busting. Anything more and you bust. Odds are against you that you will make it. You might, but probably not. So, you hold and don't take any additional cards. You may lose, you may not. You will see only one of the dealer's cards, the up card. Whether you hit or not depends not just on your hand, but on what the dealer is showing. If you win, you get paid one for one."

Sarah spent the next half hour going over the rules and strategy of the game with Chuck. Using Chuck's computer and the color printer provided by the hotel as part of the equipment in the suite, they printed out a multicolored chart of when to hit, when to stand and when to double (split his hand into two hands) for Chuck to memorize. His familiarity with the video game version helped. He was very smart and liked games, so the effort was sort of fun for him. Once she thought he had a good grasp of the game, they began to put it in practice and began to play a few hands to try out various combinations with Sarah as the dealer and Chuck as the player. Chuck marveled at her dexterity with the cards. She handled them like she'd been born with cards in her hands. He kept the chart near at hand as he practiced. After another hour, Sarah thought he was ready for the next level.

"Ok, now you should be able to play as well as any other regular player at the table. Sometimes you will win, but you will probably lose in the long run. I'm going to teach you something new, on top of the strategy. If you want to make a splash here as a whale, we're going to have to keep you playing for a while."

"You going to teach me to cheat?" He didn't exactly sound comfortable with the idea.

"No...well, maybe. It's not really cheating, it's card counting. But if the Casino, any casino here on the Strip, thinks you are doing it, they will throw you out. They'll keep your picture in their facial recognition files and ban you from the place if you try to come back, even with a fake name and a disguise. It's what I told you last night. If you are too good, they just don't let you play. Their house, their rules.

"So, in addition to everything you have to learn and pay attention to in order to play tonight, I'm going to add more. You have to keep track of all the cards dealt to all the players at the table, including the dealer, without seeming to do so. There are at least six decks in the shoe, so this isn't easy. This method helps you judge when there are likely to be more tens and aces left in the shoe. Since those cards are good for you, it's good to have an idea."

"Ok," he sounded a little hesitant. "That's a lot of cards to remember, though."

"It would be pretty well impossible for anyone without some crazy rainman memory. Here's how you do it. A two through a six is plus one, a seven through a nine is zero, and a ten through an ace is minus one. So, you will be hovering around zero the whole time. Keep the count up until they change or shuffle the shoe, then start again. The higher the count you have in your head, the more you bet on each hand to take advantage of the increased odds of pulling a face card or an ace. The house edge in blackjack is about 1%. If you are a good card counter, you can reverse it so that you have a 1% edge. It's a slow process to make a lot of money this way."

"Right," said Chuck. "For $100 bets, a 1% advantage would give me a dollar on average. If there's a deal every minute, I've made $60 in an hour."

"Exactly. This isn't a way to break the bank. It's a way to win slow and steady, assuming average luck. And Casinos have all kinds of ways to counter it here in Vegas. One way is to shuffle the decks in the shoe often. Whenever that happens, you have to start again. Time was, they would take a counter out back and beat the hell out of him. Not anymore though. I don't want to oversell this. But if you are going to play for a while with the government's hundred grand, you should know about it."

"Where'd you learn it?" asked Chuck.

"Umm, it's a long story," she said.

"Why don't you play? You'll be better at it than I am."

"Because Sid told us last night that the facial recognition files from the Paradise were probably forwarded to the Magic, Moron. Why do you think she asked that question?" said Casey from across the room where he was reading Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell. "Sarah's on those files from a prior mission or something."

"Ah. Yeah. I guess that makes sense," said Chuck. He was trying not to wonder both about how she got into those files in the first place and, more curiously, why that whole thing was so sensitive to her. Sid had asked about her dad, and he assumed that had something to do with it. He had once, months ago, stumbled into a hornet's nest when he had asked about her past. He was not about to make that mistake again.

"So, you're going to be up at bat, Chuck," said Sarah.

"Kay. Let's keep playing so I can practice. Hey, Case, come join us, please. I'll be able to practice counting better with three of us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a leisurely dinner and a very entertaining magic show in the Hotel's Houdini Theater, Sarah, Casey and Chuck arrived at the casino floor after 10 o'clock. Chuck was wearing his dark Armani suit. Casey had a sport jacket over khakis. Sarah wore white capri pants, a short-sleeved blouse, a vest (to hide her gun), and a silver-sequined baseball cap, which she had bought at one of the hotel's boutiques before dinner. She had pulled the brim of the cap low, to hide her face from the overhead cameras.

They went to the cashier and bought $100,000 worth of chips, which was more bulky than Chuck had expected.

After wandering around the casino for a while to get a feel for the place they found their way to the high limit room. They found the section with blackjack tables and watched the play at a couple of tables for a while. Selecting a table essentially at random, Chuck sat. Sarah and Casey stood behind him.

"Good evening, how you doing tonight?" he asked the dealer, who was wearing a Santa hat.

"Just great, Sir. Good luck."

"Thanks. I'm going to need luck. I mostly play blackjack in a video game. Is this really different?"

"Couldn't say, Sir. When I'm not here, I don't play at all." At the moment, it was only Chuck and the dealer, the other seats were empty.

Chuck bet $5,000. The cards were dealt. The dealer's up card was a ten. Minus one. The dealer checked his hole card to see if it was an ace, as a natural (a two card 21) would be an immediate winner for him. Chuck's cards, both face up were a pair of fours. Plus one, plus one. So, he was at plus one total. He indicated that he wanted another card by scratching the table towards him with a fingernail. It was dealt face up and was an ace. Minus one, so total zero. He had a nineteen. So long as the dealer had an eight or less, Chuck won. The dealer flipped over his down card and had an eight. Of no value for counting. The dealer gave Chuck a $5,000 chip. Ok, thought Chuck. One hand completed. Zero count going into the next hand. Here we go.

Chuck played hand after hand. Chuck found he could see the card count at a glance at a pair, which saved him effort from adding individual cards, as he only had to think about adding the total of the pair he had seen. Other people joined the table, then left. The count in his head rose and fell. More hands were dealt. The dealer was replaced, as the one they had had went on break. Hours passed. More hands were dealt. The dealer was replaced again. Chuck lost money. Chuck won money. The shoe containing the cards was changed and Chuck began his count again. When the count in his head was higher, he increased his bets. Sometimes that didn't work out too well, and he lost more than he would have otherwise. When the count in his head was low he felt more confident drawing on a fifteen. Every once in a while, he pocketed a chip from his pile on the table. More hands were dealt. A strolling magician came by and entertained Sarah and Casey with card tricks. Well, he entertained Sarah anyway. Casey just wanted the guy to get lost.

As the evening progressed and Chuck became more comfortable with the game and the state of play, he began to regularly bet higher amounts. A $20,000 bet became more common for him. The cocktail waitress, also in a Santa cap, asked each of them for an order. Drinks were free for the gamblers and their audience. Casey ordered a beer. Sarah a seltzer. Chuck a ginger ale. More hands were dealt. Chuck had been playing for hours and he was tired. He had $50,000 in chips before him. The count in his head was at plus four.

He looked behind him. Casey and Sarah were still there, as he knew they would be. He said, "Last hand, guys. I'm toast."

They nodded.

He moved half of his remaining chips up to bet. The dealer dealt. Chuck had two tens. The dealer's up card was an eight. Chuck moved the tens away from each other and moved up the other half of his chips. Drawing a pair of tens had allowed him to double, and he was now playing two separate hands of blackjack against the dealer with $25,000 bets on each. The dealer dealt a card to Chuck's left hand card. It was an ace. Twenty-one. He gave Chuck a $25,000 stack of chips. (If you've doubled and then get a natural, it only pays one-to-one.) He dealt the card for the right hand ten. It was a three. Chuck scratched the table for a hit and the dealer gave him a card. It was an ace. Chuck now had fourteen. Chuck scratched again. The next card was a six. Twenty. Chuck held. The dealer flipped over his down card. A Jack. Ten for a total of eighteen. Faced with a sure loss, anyone but the dealer would have drawn another card to a probable bust, but casino dealers operated by strict rules and were forbidden from hitting on an eighteen. The dealer slid across another $25,000 in chips. Chuck thanked him and stood up with $100,000 in chips in his hands.

He realized that the scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.

Arm in arm, Chuck and Sarah made their way away from the blackjack table where Chuck had been playing for hours. His back ached and he had a bit of a headache. Casey followed discretely behind, keeping watch over his partners. Chuck had done well, but might not have drawn the attention he wanted.

As they passed the high stakes roulette table, Chuck had a bit of an inspiration. He walked up to the table and said, "Good evening. Actually, I guess it's good morning. Whatever. Is this a lucky table?"

The croupier said, "Of course, Sir," with a fake smile.

"Superb. That's just what I was looking for. One hundred thousand on zero," said Chuck, putting his pile of chips down on one of the green spots. The croupier looked up with alarm. His eyes darted over to the pit boss, who nodded once. Casey and Sarah had tensed up, but they didn't try to stop him. The goal was to be a whale and this was sure to do it. They'd certainly have some explaining to do to Graham and Beckman, but in the meantime...

Several other people made bets. Although the crowd had thinned at this hour, Chuck's bet had drawn several curious observers. After enough time had passed the croupier waved his hand over the table, indicating that betting was done for that round. He spun the wheel counterclockwise and flipped the ball to roll around the rim of the bowl clockwise.

The ball rolled down and down. Sarah hugged Chuck's arm tightly and watched the ball. It hit the spinning wheel and bounced up, but its momentum was broken. It fell again and began to bounce against the wheel, until it came to a stop...in the zero slot.

Everyone at the table stood stock still. The bet paid thirty-five to one. Chuck had just won $3,500,000. Sarah and Casey, as much as anyone, gaped at the ball in the green zero slot, their minds locked in place with shock. Chuck came out of the stunned state faster than anyone there, including the croupier. He began to laugh, loudly and joyously.

"Wow, dude. You weren't kidding. This is a lucky table." That broke the man's frozen state. He collected the losing bets from the table and then began to stack piles of chips for Chuck and slide them towards him. Chuck, still laughing, took two $10,000 chips and handed them to the croupier. "Here, man. These are for you. God knows you deserve them. As for the rest of it, let it ride. Keep it on zero for the next spin."

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much. Umm, the bet you want..."

The pit boss came over and said to Chuck, "Congratulations, Sir. But I'm sorry. The bet you are looking to make is in excess of our limits. If you were to win..."

"Yup, it would be over $120,000,000. Yup. I got that. But isn't that why they call it gambling?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I cannot permit..."

"It's ok," Chuck looked at his name tag, "Mr. Simpson. I'm not asking you to. I know you have rules and shit you have to adhere to. So please use that walkie-talkie thing over there and get the manager. You are the pit boss for this area. Get the manager for the entire floor to come over here, please. It can be his or her decision. I don't want to get you in trouble. Please, this is gonna be fun."

Simpson walked away and picked up the radio to get the floor boss.

Sarah looked at him with amazement, her mouth a little agape. "Chuck," she whispered, "what are you..."

He grinned at her and said, "I'm getting us invited to a cocktail party tomorrow night...or really tonight actually."

"Holy shit, Bartowski," growled Casey quietly.

"I know, right? I make $11 an hour fixing computers. Hold onto your hat, Casey," said Chuck, laughing. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

A small, neat looking, middle-aged woman came over to the table and said, "Good evening. I'm the floor manager here. Mrs. Shields. Congratulations, Mr..."

Chuck stuck out his hand and said, "Carmichael. Charles Carmichael. And these are my friends, Sarah Walker and John Casey. I'd like to give you back the money I won tonight, but it seems that it's against the rules. I was wondering if you could bend the rules for me just this once. You see, it's past my bed time and I'd like to hit the hay."

"You could always come back tomorrow night, Mr. Carmichael." Mrs. Shields had a pleasant smile and hard eyes.

"I know, Mrs. Shields, but life is uncertain. Strike while the iron is hot and all that. What say we give it a go?" By this time a large crowd had gathered around the table as word had spread throughout the floor. Dozens of people came by and, jostling each other, the bets began to pile up on the table. Including, Chuck noted with a little humor, many joining his bet on zero. "Seems like a shame to disappoint these nice folks." He gestured at the crowd.

The woman looked at the crowd for a moment and then looked back to Chuck. He met her gaze and held it. She studied him and said, "Alright, Mr. Carmichael. What say we give it a go?"

She took the ball from the croupier and gently moved him aside to take the man's place at the wheel. With a glance at the crowd, she waved her hand over the table. She spun the wheel and flipped the ball into the bowl. The only sound was the whiz of the ball over the polished wood. It didn't seem that anyone was breathing. The ball circled the bowl again and again. It lost momentum and dropped. Bounced. Dropped again. And stopped.

The woman looked up at Chuck and said, "Twenty-two." She placed the marker on the number twenty-two and stepped back to allow the croupier to clear the table of all but the winning bets. She had a tiny smile as she said, "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carmichael."

Chuck was still laughing, "You too, Mrs. Shields. Have a good night...uh...morning." He gave her a cheerful wave.

Several members of the crowd offered commiseration at his loss, which he accepted with "Hey, thanks. No worries. Easy come, easy go."

Team B began to walk away from the table. Sarah said to him, "You just lost a three and a half million dollar bet, Chuck." She was still stunned by what she'd seen. By what Chuck had done.

"Not my money. That was house money, sweetie. It's not real to me until it's in my bank account. All night, I've just been convincing myself I was playing a video game that had no real world consequences. That's how I didn't go crazy."

"You could have taken back the $100,000 stake money, Moron. That was taxpayer money, after all," said Casey, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Oh, I did," said Chuck. He reached into his pocket and took out a fistful of chips. "$150,000. I was pocketing chips at blackjack as we went along. Every once in a while. I took out the stake money and enough to finance this mission, plus some. We're good."

Sarah stopped to look at him and the chips in his hand. Her Chuck was amazing. She grinned from ear to ear and said, "I love you so much."

Chuck just smiled happily, his nose crinkling.

Casey looked at the chips in Chuck's hand and said, with a small smile of his own, "I even like you a little bit right now."

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A/N3: Books are written on blackjack, the variations and the strategies. Furthermore, there are a bunch of more intricate variations on card counting than what I presented here. But this is Chuck fanfiction and you guys didn't sign up for a treatise. So, I simplified the explanations and the action. I tried to be wholly accurate, but necessarily incomplete.

A/N4: Tiny James Bond homage buried in here. Wonder if anyone gets it. I'm betting WvonB is going to.


	60. Chapter 60

A/N: Unlike gambling generally, ownership of Charah is a sure thing. (And I'm not referring to Lou's delicious sandwich, which, I'm told, is selling quite well.)

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Chuck and Sarah slept late and, once awake, didn't get out of bed for some time in any event. When they finally made their way out to the living room area, Casey was already up and reading the day's papers with his second cup of coffee.

"Morning, Case," said Chuck.

"Morning, kid. Walker. Looks like your performance last night attracted the attention we wanted. This had been slid under the door." He pushed an envelope and letter across to them. They were invited to the Kirk cocktail party at 6pm that evening in the Thurston Room of the hotel.

Chuck grinned and gave Casey a high five. "Good job, Bartowski," said Casey. "Remind me to keep you in mind when I want someone to lose over three million dollars."

"I won it first, so don't forget that part when you tell the story," said Chuck, laughing while reaching for the coffee pot.

"Well, guys," said Sarah. "What do you want to do between now and the cocktail party? We've got more than a few hours to kill."

"I was thinking about a visit to the Museum of Nuclear Testing," said Casey. "And maybe a workout."

"How about we go to the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton?" asked Chuck.

"Ughhh," said Sarah, taking the coffee cup Chuck offered her. "You guys can go do either one of those. Or both of them. I'll go to the spa for a little pampering."

"I don't pamper you enough?" asked Chuck.

"Well, sweetie..." she began to run her hand up his arm while giving him a soft smile.

"Oh, God. I'm going to need regular insulin injections if I keep hanging around you two," said Casey.

"Ahhh, come on," said Sarah, with a grin, swatting him gently on the arm. "Best job you ever had."

Casey just grunted.

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Still bundled in their overcoats which had offered protection from the chill wind outside, Secret Service Agent Ralph Watts stood in the foyer of Summers Currency with his partner, Mike Casper. Casper was fresh out of training and on his first field assignment. Watts found a little humor in the young man's enthusiasm. Hell, when they met Carmichael and his team, he thought Casper would ask for their autographs, he was so excited. On the plane ride from LA to Boston he went on and on about them and all the accomplishments they'd had. Very little of it was public knowledge (and, in any event, their identities were closely held secrets), but the gossip in the law enforcement and intelligence communities touted them as an incredibly successful team of operatives. Casper had all the calm of a fanboy meeting his idols. Watts was pleased that he had managed to hold it in check during the briefing in LA. Furthermore, he believed that Casper had a secret crush on Agent Walker.

The Summers Currency facility was located outside Pittsfield, Massachusetts, near the New York border. Paper making is a water intensive industry and Summers was located along the East Branch Housatonic River as a result. There were multiple buildings comprising the facility. At the moment, Watts and Casper stood in the main building housing the offices. Other buildings contained the production processes. There was even a museum highlighting the history of the company. The Summers business was significantly broader than making currency paper, but this division of the Summers Company had been a mainstay of its revenue for literally hundreds of years. Stephen Summers sold the first paper for the Colonies' currency to Paul Revere in 1770. Now the company was established worldwide, was a leading provider of high-tech currency paper to many nations, and was the sole provider of paper to the US government for its currency.

Watts had spoken with the officers of the company many times since the investigation into the bogus hundreds had begun and been repeatedly assured that all of the hundreds paper that had been produced was accounted for by Summers and had, in fact, been delivered to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing (the delivery receipt from the BEP had been emailed to him). It had been Watts' idea to come back out to Massachusetts and talk to the Summers people in person and to look at the production facility himself. With the new information they had gotten from Carmichael's team, he was going to start at the beginning and go through the entire paper investigation all over again from the ground up. When they left Summers, they would head south to DC and the BEP. If the Summers part of the investigation was a dry hole, the paper must have been stolen from the BEP. He knew that the men and women at the BEP had excellent procedures to keep track of the paper, but that was the only other choice. He refused to believe that the counterfeiters had been able to so successfully mimic the actual paper.

When the agents showed their credentials to the receptionist, she told them that they had been expected and to please wait. An older man in coveralls and a parka came through the doors behind them after a few minutes wait.

"This way, gentlemen." He led them back out into the December cold. There wasn't too much snow on the ground and what there was had been well shoveled and the walks were clear. The buildings were a typical New England style of tidy red brick, three stories high. The portion of the facility that produced the currency paper, though, located along West Housatonic Street to the east of the other buildings, was behind high fencing and was protected by barbed wire and a manned guard post.

Their guide had them waived through the entry point and led them into the red brick building that contained the currency paper production floor, where the paper was actually made. They snagged ear protection from a rack near the door and walked onto the floor itself. Their guide warned them to be careful to keep out of peoples' way and not to approach any of the active machines.

Most paper is made out of wood pulp, but not the paper made in this building. US currency paper is made out of a 75/25 mix of cotton and linen. Huge paper machines took up most of the floor of the vast building. The wet slurry of fibers was fed into one end of the machine, the water removed, the web of fibers pressed, dried, and formed into an even thickness. The paper is then run through various finishing processes and ends up on huge rolls. The amazing thing is that the entire process happens in a continuous run on one long machine. Dozens of these enormous machines thrummed and drums of paper whirled as they were prepared. Watts and Casper were struck that what they were looking at was destined to end up in someone's wallet or purse. From the paper making machine, the rolls went to another part of the facility where cutting machines took the rolled paper and cut it into sheets, to be packaged and forwarded to the BEP. Hundreds paper was packed into brown paper wrapped loads of 8,000 sheets and shipped two loads at a time to the BEP in unmarked white trucks.

Not all of the machines were active at the same time, though, as the higher denomination paper was produced in less quantity than the lower denomination paper. Watts and Casper stood looking at one of the quiet cutting machines.

"What are we looking for?" asked Casper.

"I don't know," admitted Watts. "This is the machine that cut the rolls of hundreds paper into sheets." He gestured at the computer mounted to the side of the apparatus. "But I've got the print out of how many sheets were made. They are all accounted for. I've spent hours on the phone with their Chief Information Officer, guy named Prentiss Cuthburt. There's nothing missing. None of the paper from this machine is missing. How the hell did Chen get that paper?"

With a scowl, their guide said, "Missing paper? You get a good count?"

"Yes, Sir. This machine didn't cut any more paper than you guys accounted for, so staring at it won't do me any good."

"Did you double check the computer?" the old guy asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Watts.

"The old analog counter on this cutter. It's mechanical not electronic. This machine is pretty old and predates the computer hook up from the rest of the machines in the process. It's still got the old counter in back. Nobody uses it any more. It's a pain in the ass to even get to it, the way they re-mounted this one near the wall. I'll bet most people don't even know it's there. Here, let me check it for you." The old man went around to the back side of the machine close to the wall and got down on his knees slowly, as if it were painful for him to do so. He called out, "One, two, five, six, seven, one."

Watts wrote the numbers down on the back of the print out he held. Glancing at the other side of the paper, he said to the old man, "Thanks, my friend. No joy. That's just what the computer told us. Thanks anyway."

"Ah, well. Good luck." After spending some time with the packing machines, they finished on the production floor. The older man took them back outside the fenced-in section and into the main office building. He left them in the lobby with a hearty "Good luck." While they waited there, Watts showed the number to Casper, surreptitiously motioning with his finger for silence. The cutting machine in the other building had cut 3,000 sheets of hundreds paper that the Summer's computer system didn't account for. Casper's eyes went wide as he digested the ramifications, but he held his tongue for once.

Cuthburt's assistant, a young African-American woman, came down to get them in the reception area. The woman indicated that Mr. Cuthburt was expecting them. They took the elevator to the top floor. They were led down a corridor of executive offices. She knocked once and opened the door to his office without waiting for a reply, motioning for them to enter. Cuthburt stood up from behind his desk and stepped forward with his hand extended.

"Agent Watts, what a pleasure to meet you in person after all this time. Good to put a face to the voice on the phone," he said cheerfully. He had a Boston accent, which seemed a little incongruous, as, notwithstanding his name, he appeared to be Chinese.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lon Kirk began to mingle with the high rollers at his Wednesday cocktail party, forcing a plastic smile onto his face. Mostly a collection of fat businessmen and their fat wives. The bunch of them should be set on the treadmill for a few hours, or days, thought Kirk. Here was that movie guy with his third, or was it his fourth, wife. Here was the sheik with his retinue. Here was...wait a second now.

"I don't think we've met, I'm Lon Kirk," he said, suavely, reaching out to shake hands.

"Hi. I'm Carmichael, Charles Carmichael, but my friends call me Chuck. This is Sarah Walker and my friend, John Casey. Thank you for the invite to the party. You have a lovely hotel here, Mr. Kirk. We've been enjoying our visit." The boy was tall, about as tall as he was, and had all the happy enthusiasm of a puppy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you...all of you. Chuck, huh? Please call me Lon. So, they tell me you won three and a half million dollars from me last night and then gave it right back again. You are a pretty brave gambler, Chuck."

The young man laughed gently. "No, Lon, I'm not brave. I'd be brave if I was gambling with my own money. By the time I was playing roulette it was all house money. It might as well have been monopoly-money to me."

"Well, not many men would have been as free and easy with a three million dollar win."

"I guess you're pretty glad I was, though, huh?" he said with an engaging smile, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Kirk gave a bit of a sideways grin, his bad mood slipping away, "Well, yeah. I am, actually." This Carmichael was actually a pretty nice kid. Kirk liked him immediately, but, nevertheless, his attention was focused on the woman, Sarah. A rare beauty, her blue eyes held intelligence and passion and he was immediately attracted to her. She reminded him of his second wife, at least as she had looked in the beginning. The exciting thought passed quickly through his mind of seeing those same eyes holding fear or pain, but he pushed the idea away. Not the time for that, he thought. Maybe later.

"What line of work are you in, Chuck? If I may ask," said Kirk.

"Software. I'm working with some open source algorithms to track the market fluctuations on the individual level for the cardinal endruns. The baselines are particularly hard to pin down."

'Whatever the fuck that is,' thought Kirk. 'Like I give a shit.' Aloud, he said, "Ah, I see. Very interesting. And what do you do, Miss Walker. I hope I'm not being presumptuous by the assumption that it is 'Miss'?"

Her smile was delightful and her blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, it's 'Miss' alright. I work with Chuck. Mostly translation of his material. It's really difficult sometimes."

"Oh, how challenging. And you, Mr. Casey?"

"Security," growled Casey.

"Indeed. Can't have too much of that, now can we?" said Kirk. The big, dumb thug looked like he'd be perfect with Tony's outfit, hanging around with those trigger-happy boneheads. "Will you be staying long?"

"We haven't really decided yet, Lon," said Sarah with a seductive smile. This one was as easy as can be. Kirk knew he was handsome and charming, but he also knew that power and money worked its own libidinous magic on women. When you had those things women became yours for the taking and their men could do nothing at all to stop it. It was just the way nature had designed the human species. Certainly, a nice, well-meaning, youngster like this Chuck boy wouldn't be able to stop him from taking Sarah. He began to mentally ascribe the name Cuck to him, and smiled to himself as he did so.

At just that time, Chen walked into the party, scowling and clearly in a mood to have a fight. 'Aw, shit,' thought Kirk. 'So much for my seduction of this blonde,' he grumbled to himself.

Kirk said, "I'm sorry. Please excuse me for a moment." He left Cuck and his woman and reluctantly made his way over to Chen, his mood darkening with every step.

Chen and his men invariably made him mad. He hated being under anyone's thumb and to be blackmailed by this arrogant asshole was doubly infuriating. To push the man's fake money through the coffers of the Magic was hateful. Not that he hated breaking the law, but to be forced to do it...Kirk shook himself. He didn't like being angry all the time. He considered himself a generally happy person.

The General had arrived at the cocktail party in a neat business suit and with his usual pair of assistants.

Kirk approached him with a smile and his hand out to shake. Chen was in a mood, though. The moment Kirk was within earshot, he said in an angry whisper, "Trouble moving the new money? What is this I hear? You know better than that, Kirk."

"General, you know as well as I do that we are running tremendous risks here. I think that we should lay low for a little while, that's all. Someone put an undercover guy into our operation. Luckily..."

"So, what? You found him, killed him, and buried him in the desert. Problem solved. No evidence. Do not lose your courage now, Kirk. Not at this point. This is the last shipment of money to be moved. It will be delivered to you tomorrow night. We've used up the last of the paper we had." He removed a flashdrive from his pocket. "This is the evidence against you. It is the only copy," Chen lied. "Once the last tranche of money has moved through, I will give it to you and you can rest easy. We'll never have to meet again."

Kirk's eyes fixed on the flashdrive in Chen's hand with a desperate hunger. Unconsciously, he began to reach for it. "You can trust me, General..."

Anger flared in the General's eyes. He snarled, "Trust you? I do not trust you, Kirk. I do not. I think you are a goddamn animal and belong in a cage. You murdered a woman in Taipei...with a whip. A whip! And you decided to record the murder, so you could watch it later maybe, you sick fuck?" Chen stepped forward, brandishing the flashdrive like a weapon, anger and scorn dripping from every word he spoke. "I want you to think about that, Kirk. You think the United States would not extradite you to my country for the murder? Because you have a few friends in office? Care to try it, Kirk? Want to see if your political friends will stick by your side when this tape is played on your national television? When the choice is you or them? How much loyalty do you expect then? Huh?"

Chen was right and Kirk was very close to panic at the thought. "No, General, no. Calm down. Calm down. I know we can continue to do business. I'll move the money you want. Not going to be an issue." He smiled a fake smile. "I just wanted you to consider a pause, that's all. No issue. We'll go forward full steam ahead when you get me the money tomorrow. I promise. Now please, enjoy the party."

Kirk moved away from him before he lost his temper. His hands were shaking, he was very angry and, if he were honest with himself, scared. As he moved away from Chen, he saw Cuck and his bodyguard begin a conversation with Chen and his aides. Good. Now where was that woman, Sarah?

He turned to look for her and found her at his elbow, looking up at him with her beautiful blue eyes, her smile hinting at mischief. "Well, hello again, Sarah." He forced a smile to his face and pushed Chen and his threats out of his mind. "Enjoying the party?"

"I am. Thank you for inviting me. It's so exciting to be with such famous important people. Isn't Chuck talking to a presidential candidate? From China or something? I recognize him from his picture in the paper. Is that right?"

"Taiwan, actually. Yes, he's running for president in his country. He likes to come over here every once in a while to decompress from the campaign trail, I guess," said Kirk. 'And to twist my balls,' thought Kirk.

"Does he always stay with you?" she asked.

"Of course. He likes the best, and the Magic is the best hotel and casino on the Strip," Kirk said with a self-satisfied smirk.

She giggled deliciously, looking at him from under her lashes, and said, "Only the best, huh?"

"I'd be happy to show you more of the hotel, if your boyfriend wouldn't mind too much."

She put a gentle hand on his chest and said, seductively, her voice lowered and a little husky, "Oh, I think I'd like that a lot. I heard you live upstairs."

"I do. There's a private indoor pool in the penthouse, all glass roof. Do you like to swim, Sarah?"

"I love to swim, Lon. And I have just the bikini to wear. I think you're going to like it." Her eyes spoke volumes to Kirk. He was certain he'd see the bikini on the floor of the pool deck.

"Excellent. Maybe come upstairs in the morning? Say ten o'clock?"

"Wonderful. I'll see you then. I'm looking forward to it."

'Yeah,' he thought, 'this is easy as can be.' His bad mood, even his anger at Chen, had left him. He found himself looking forward to the morning and a swim with this stunning woman in the bikini she thought he would like.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: I once spent an entire afternoon at the Museum of Nuclear Testing in Las Vegas. (Yes, it's a real thing.) It was a fascinating museum exploring a time when we needed to test the bombs physically (many in the area then known as the Nevada Test Site) rather than through today's computer models. The last actual US test was conducted in 1992. The decision to forego atmospheric testing by both of the Cold War adversaries was particularly interesting. Also, the Star Trek Experience was open during the time this story is set, but closed permanently in September of the following year. Thanks to KeithB for reminding me of that cool attraction.

A/N3: Please use your favorite search engine and read about Crane Currency, a division of the Crane Company, off which the fictional Summers Company is very loosely based. As Crane is the sole provider of currency paper to the United States government, I cannot avoid a comparison between Crane and Summers. Crane is a company so steeped in American history that it's amazing that it is not more well known. And to see how it has reinvented itself as a technology company to keep up with the demands of the anti-counterfeiting technology used in today's currency paper is awesome. A million thanks to my friend LetsGoRed, who went out of his way to visit the Crane Currency facilities in Dalton, Massachusetts and send me photographs of both the grounds and the currency building truck bay. I've said it before, but it bears repeating. This is a wonderful community of friends here. Having said all of that about Crane, I made up a lot of things about Summers Currency, including the specifics of the cutting machine and most especially the people. To the best of my knowledge, Crane has never lost a single sheet of currency paper over all the years they have been the producers for the BEP.

A/N4: Bond homage in the last chapter. No winners. The line about the smells of a casino at 3AM was, essentially, the first sentence of the first James Bond novel (Casino Royale) from 1953.


	61. Chapter 61

A/N: Yup. Time to talk about the ownership of Chuck. Ok, that's done. Let's move on now. Nothing to see here people.

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Chuck was upset, but was trying not to show it. Sarah had flirted with Kirk at the cocktail party and gotten an invitation to his penthouse apartment for the next morning. "Why did you do that?" asked Chuck when they had gotten back to the suite, doing his best not to sound accusatory.

"I saw the way he was looking at me. So, I did it because I thought it had a good chance of working. And it did," said Sarah.

"Sarah, he's a really bad guy," said Chuck.

"I know. It's part of my job to get close to really bad guys and have them tell me things. If I can get close to him by flirting with him, well, that's just another part of my tool kit. I've gotten information from terrorists, warlords, and drug kingpins. All of them really bad guys."

"It's sort of disrespectful to your boyfriend, don't you think?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck, it's not disrespectful to you. It's just business. It's a work thing. It's like your girlfriend is an actor and I have to film a love scene with somebody." She was upset and frustrated at the same time. And she could tell he was upset, but she needed him to understand that this had nothing to do with him. It was just part of the job. Not a part of the job he'd seen in the last couple of months, at least not with her, and not a part of the job she necessarily enjoyed, but a part of the job anyway.

"Not me. Carmichael. He's gonna feel terrible," said Chuck.

"Oh. Maybe. Maybe they haven't been getting along. Maybe he's had another girl on the side and she's flirting with Kirk for payback. Maybe they have an open relationship and he just doesn't care what she gets up to. I don't know, but whatever is between Carmichael and his girl is make believe. It's got nothing to do with you and me."

"I know that. I know we're not really the Carmichaels, or whatever," he huffed. Chuck didn't look at all happy about it.

Casey felt the need to support Sarah as a matter of professionalism. He said, "She's right, kid. If she can flirt something useful out of that asshole, so much the better. It's a standard seduction tactic. Basic spy shit. This is why we got invited to the cocktail party to begin with. The reason we wanted access to this guy, to get information. She did better with Kirk than you and I did with Chen. All we got was a campaign speech. Just more politician canned bullshit."

"But if you go there, to his apartment, tomorrow, you'll be alone. We agreed no lone wolf stuff anymore. Sarah, Sid told us this guy beats up women. I don't want you alone with him," Chuck said.

She put a hand on his arm to reassure him. "I understand, sweetie. Look, I know you are uncomfortable with this, for a lot of reasons. But first of all, I am pretty hard to beat up. Secondly, I won't be alone. I will have you guys as back up. If something goes wrong, you can come storming in as the aggrieved boyfriend. If it goes way, way wrong, Casey comes in with guns blazing. I'll have the coms open the whole time. I heard you, you both, on needing backup. I'm not going to pull a Carina and go off on my own. I won't do that anymore. I promise."

Casey said, "You have a better idea, kid?"

Chuck thought about it and shook his head no, frustrated. "Not yet, but I'm going to be working on it." Some part of him wanted to scream, 'Yeah. I'm the fucking Piranha and I'll hack all his systems and get all his secrets and you don't have to go anywhere near the sonofabitch.' But he knew that, even if he could do something like that, whatever evidence he collected in that way couldn't be used against Kirk in any prosecution. Oh, and the Piranha would go to prison instead, if not for that hack, then for the dozens and dozens of illegal hacks he'd done over the years.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, when they were in bed together, Sarah said, "If you don't want me to do it, I won't. I'll beg off the invite and we can come up with another way to get to him."

Chuck said, "I'm sorry I'm sort of freaking out about you and Kirk tomorrow. I just worry about you and this seems like a dangerous situation. Even if Casey and I were to come storming in, a lot of bad crap can happen before we can get there. …. And look, honestly, it's not just the danger. Maybe not even mostly. I really don't like the idea of him touching you...you know...like that. Or you touching him. Or just looking at him like that. Any of it. It makes my skin crawl. I'm sorry that I'm not more...phlegmatic about it, but I'm not. I love you too much and ...I guess I'm sort of possessive. I know that's totally unprofessional as a spy, but I'm not a spy."

"I understand, but it's not real."

"He doesn't know that. It's real to him. And he's scary. And gross."

"I know you worry. But I have to take some risks in this job...do some things that suck. I try not to take stupid risks, but some risks...well, they are unavoidable." She paused and thought for a bit, then said, "You're not really jealous, I hope."

"Are you going to have sex with him?" asked Chuck.

"Oh, God, no."

"Ok," said Chuck. "So, then I'm not going to be jealous. I'm going to be a good spy's boyfriend and deal with it like a grown up. But I don't have to like it, right?"

She snuggled closer to him and said, "Right. For the record, I don't like it either."

He was quiet for a little while and said, "Sarah, you know you can tell me anything, right? Anything about your life or your past or people you have...dealt with.. or ….things you've done for the good of the country. Anything, and it will not make me love you any less than I do. Anything you want to tell me...but...if you could...maybe, we won't talk about your past seduction missions. I just don't think that that is something I want to know about. Is that ok?"

"Ok. I understand, sweetie. That's fine." She rubbed his chest and planted a quick kiss on him. Sarah was quiet for a while thinking about how an untrained civilian would view the seduction missions. He'd seen Carina in action, for God's sake, but she was extreme even by normal standards of spy behavior.

She realized suddenly that a seduction mission was sort of how he'd met her. 'Shit,' she thought with alarm, 'Now that was a comparison he could do without.' After a while she said, "I'm good at flirting, at the seduction part of the job. They trained me and I paid attention. And I know I've told you this once already, but it deserves repeating. Our first date, after Bryce sent you the Intersect, the first half of the date...of dinner, I was professionally flirting with you. I was using my skills that I'd been taught to get you to open up to me. Not that it was at all necessary, you're so open by nature. But ...but then, something changed. I knew you had nothing to do with the theft of government secrets. I stopped, ...well, using what I'd been taught. I just stopped. From the middle of the dinner on...maybe from when you told me you'd be my baggage handler...I was just Sarah. Not a spy. Not a woman trained with seduction skills. Just Sarah. And I wanted you, Chuck. Not because it was my job, but just because I liked you. I had no idea it would lead to ...to this...to love...to the only totally fulfilling relationship I've ever had with anyone...to something that has, in just a few months, become the cornerstone of my entire life...I had no idea. But what I'm up to tomorrow with Kirk...well," Sarah started to cry. "I don't want you to think there's any sort of equivalence. That I did to you what I'm proposing to do to Kirk. There isn't. And I don't ever want you to question that...there isn't..."

He held her and rubbed her back. He murmured, "It's ok, Sarah. I know. I know that. I would never question it. Don't worry. I love you too. Nothing will ever make me question that either. Nothing. Ever. No matter what. I love you more than anyone or anything else in the whole world." He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"I love you too," she said.

They quietly fell asleep holding each other but, for the first time in many nights, did not make love first.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pat Kendler called in the morning with two pieces of good news. They had found the source of the paper. The CIO of the paper making company had extensive family contacts in Taiwan from his mother's side and had had contact with Chen's man, Li-fu. They couldn't prove it yet, but it seemed he'd used his computer skills (RPI undergrad followed by a Masters from MIT) to doctor the computer records and disappear 3,000 sheets of hundreds paper. They were going to bring him in for questioning later in the day.

The other piece of good news is that they had followed Li-fu to a large garage building in Roach, Nevada, about five miles from Whiskey Pete's Hotel and Casino (on the Nevada side of the California/Nevada border) and a half hour south of the Strip itself. They had submitted for a warrant to search the place, but, in the meantime, two of her agents were running a stakeout. They were hoping that Chen himself would visit the location.

At about a quarter to ten Sarah said, "Ok, I'm ready." She wore a tiny black bikini under the capri pants from the other night and a sleeveless halter top cropped short enough to show a strip of her belly. Her bag held her gun. She had several additional weapons otherwise concealed on her person.

Chuck, sitting at his computer and watching a tracker to show her location, said, "Com check."

Sarah said, "One, two, three, four."

He listened to her voice coming from the computer and gave a thumbs up signal.

"Ok," she said. "Back soon. Keep the recording going in case he incriminates himself."

"No worries, Walker. We got it. If you need us just tell him it's your first time in Vegas. That will send Chuck in. If you tell him you've been to Vegas a dozen times or more, I'll come in heavy."

"Got it," she bent down to give Chuck a quick kiss.

He said, quietly, "Be safe." He looked like his stomach hurt.

Sarah left the suite.

"You, ok, kid?" asked Casey.

"Yeah. Let's get this over with," said Chuck, without the slightest trace of his normal good humor.

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Sarah paused before pushing the elevator button to the penthouse. She had a bad feeling about this. Not a premonition of danger, those were bad enough. This bad feeling was different. It was telling her that she shouldn't be doing this. Not anymore. Not now that ….well, not with Chuck in her life. She shouldn't do this. She forced the feeling away. This was just business. And she would not let it get carried away and go too far. It was just part of her job. No big deal. She pushed the button.

"Well hello, Sarah," said Kirk with a pleased grin, moments later. He was wearing a short terrycloth robe over a pair of swim trucks. The hair on his chest, which she could see between the edges of the robe, was gray.

"Hello, Lon," said Sarah, leaning forward to give him a peck on the cheek, with one hand resting lightly on his chest. "Thanks for having me up for a visit."

"Indeed, my pleasure." He proffered a cold glass of champagne. "I hope it's not too early in the morning for you. I find morning champagne to taste better than late night champagne."

"Thanks," she said with a giggle, while taking the glass, "I'm perfectly happy with morning, noon and night champagne, to tell the truth."

"Oh, good. Can I show you around?"

"I'd love that. Thank you." She put a light hand on his arm and began a tour with him of his penthouse apartment.

The apartment was huge and designed more with a mind to the impression it would give than to relaxed comfort. The style was very Vegas with lots of stainless steel and lights and shiny things. There were expensive paintings on the walls and sculptures on pedestals. The views were of the Strip and the desert beyond. He made a point of showing her his bedroom, with what seemed to be an acre of bed...she noticed it was a four poster bedframe. Off on one edge, accessed through a sliding door, was a balcony/terrace area, in the center of which was a decent sized pool. The area was enclosed by a glass structure which was probably retractable in the nicer weather. Several pool chairs were set up near a small table holding an open champagne bottle in a sweating ice bucket. Although it was too cold outside to think about swimming in an outdoor pool, the indoor pool area was heated and pleasant. And the bright desert sun streamed into the room, further warming it.

"As promised, Sarah. My pool. Now, I hope you brought that bikini. I've spent all night thinking about it since you mentioned it yesterday," he said, with what he probably hoped was a cheerful smile, but just looked creepy to Sarah.

"Oh, I sure did, Lon," said Sarah, dropping her bag on one of the chairs and toeing off her light shoes. In one quick motion she removed her top and dropped it next to the bag. A moment later the capri pants joined them. She looked positively spectacular in the small bikini. Kirk certainly seemed to think so, as he stared at her with hunger, weighing her in his mind as if she were meat in a butcher shop.

They sat next to each other on the pool chaise lounge and clicked their champagne glasses.

"Here's to new friends," said Kirk.

"New friends," Sarah repeated. "So, Lon, tell me, running a casino must be so much fun. I mean, I'm sure it's tons of hard work, but the excitement, the bright lights, the show biz."

"It's not as much fun as you'd think, honestly. I have to work pretty hard and don't often get a chance to relax like this. That's why I'm enjoying your company so much. I can avoid thinking about work at a time like this."

Sarah laughed softly and said, "You have such interesting people here at the hotel. Didn't I see that guy...Ives...the movie guy who owns Castle Studios?"

"Yes, he was here with his third or fourth wife. I sort of lose track with these Hollywood types. We're his favorite Vegas fun spot. I remember one time he was here with his last wife, or maybe it was two wives ago, when he hired a local hooker to have a threesome with him and his wife in his suite downstairs. Turned out the girl and his wife got along better than he expected. They sort of left him out of the fun. I think the local girl and the wife are now a couple and living in the house Ives bought them." He laughed long and hard at that turn of events.

Sarah looked at him wide eyed, "No way. Oh, my God. That's the funniest story. Serves him right."

"I know, right? What an idiot," said Kirk.

"And you know Romney and the President and everybody, right? I heard you're a big fundraiser for politicians."

"Absolutely. The best politicians money can buy. It's just a business investment, that's all. You feed money into the machine and get the benefits at the other end. They are all the same."

"Bribery?" asked Sarah, with a confused frown.

"Oh, God no. I wouldn't do that. That's illegal. Nope, everything I do is totally legal. Doesn't make it less corrupt, but it means they can't stick me in a tiny little gray cell for the rest of my life. It's all totally legal. Campaign finance, is what they call it. Fill out the right forms and give them the money to help keep them in power. This is a great country."

Sarah took a sip of her champagne and said, "Is it the same with the Taiwanese man I saw last night? Do you have business in Taiwan too?"

She could sense that he had tensed up slightly at the mention of Chen. She said, "Oh, I don't want to get a sunburn. Can you put this oil on my back please?" She handed him a small tube of oil from her bag and swung her hair off her bare back, twisting on the lounge chair to put her back to him.

"It would be my pleasure, Sarah," he said. "So, Chen, from Taiwan. Yeah, well he's not exactly like the other politicians I support."

He took the bottle from her and poured a healthy amount on her back, high near her shoulders. "Ooooh," she squealed. "It's cold. Rub it in."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck looked sick.

"You ok?" asked Casey.

"I'm fine. Ok? Fine. Just stop asking, for Chrissakes," Chuck barked angrily, without looking away from the monitor.

Casey gave him a long, considered look, but didn't respond. He didn't even grunt.

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She put a fake smile on her face, the kind of smile she'd worn thousands of times in her life. It would fool him, as it had fooled people forever. He began to rub the oil on her back. She wanted to pull away, but forced herself to stay still. She put out of her mind the fact that this man was a monster. That she wanted nothing more than to break all his fingers touching her back. She took a deep breath. 'Just tell yourself these are Chuck's hands. That's it. Chuck's hands.' Her breath eased and she began to relax. She would get through this. She would. 'Chuck's hands. Chuck's hands.'

'NOT CHUCK'S HANDS'

Her body overrode her mind.

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Casey and Chuck tried to hear the feed from Sarah's watch, but it had become confusing. Some noises they couldn't understand or decipher. They heard Kirk say, "Wha..." They heard Sarah say, "Oh, oh, sorry...sorry, gotta go. Sorry." Then there was the rustle of things being moved around with Kirk cursing in the background and then just Sarah's breathing.

Chuck said, "Sarah, are you ok? Do you need us?"

"No. Stay put. I'm on my way to you now," she whispered. Her voice sounded weird, like she'd been badly shaken by something.

Casey said to Chuck, but not over the channel to Sarah, "What the hell? She barely got started. She didn't get anything useful out of him."

"Something must have happened. Something to abort the mission," said Chuck, equally baffled. "She sounds ok, though."

It didn't take too long for her to come through the door to the suite. She had pulled her clothes back on haphazardly. "Shower" was the only word she said, before disappearing into the bathroom in her and Chuck's room.

Ten minutes later, Sarah came out of the bathroom in a robe. She was drying her wet hair with a towel. She was clearly upset about something. Somewhat distracted, too, maybe.

"Are you ok?" asked Chuck.

"What went wrong, Walker?" asked Casey.

She shook her head and said, "It was going along fine. He was talking...relaxed. Distracted by me...by the bikini. He was putting oil on my back. Happy with the way things were going. About to talk about Chen. Expecting more from the morning, I think, ...and ..I….I puked."

"What?" asked both men.

"I puked. A lot. All over his pool deck. And his pool chairs. In his champagne bucket," said Sarah.

"Are you ok?" asked Chuck. He could see how upset she was and tried very hard not to show his relief.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not still nauseous or anything, if that's what you are asking." Casey was chuckling softly. "It's not funny, Casey. It's not," Sarah said angrily.

"No. Of course, not," said Casey, unconvincingly. He was trying, and failing, to hide a smile. "The kid broke you, Walker."

Sarah flared at him. "Goddammit. This is serious, Casey. This is no joke," she yelled. "Seduction missions. We get them from time to time, you know? It's not unheard of, Casey. What if I can't do those anymore? What if that tool...that skillset...well, what if I can't? I'd be like an actor who can't film a love scene. I wouldn't be able to do part of the job. I'm a damn good spy, and if I can't do seduction missions anymore..."

"Calm down. Calm down," said Casey, with his hands raised defensively.

"Oh, yeah, Case. You know how often saying 'calm down' actually works to calm somebody down? Huh?" she yelled.

"Ok, ok. But you don't know that this will continue elsewhere, Walker," said Casey, really doing his best to calm her down. "This may be a one-off. An aberration. Maybe you had some bad shrimp." He didn't sound like he believed that to be the case.

"Even if it isn't an aberration," said Chuck, "we'll just come up with a different method of accomplishing the mission. We are a pretty competent set of spies. Well, at least you two are. Try not to worry about it." He didn't want to say it out loud, but he truly hoped she never ever had to do another one of those.

"Chuck's right, Sarah. Don't worry about it. We'll figure something else out if and when we have to." And Casey had an idea in mind for exactly what that something else would be. 'Yeah,' he thought, 'that would work out just fine.'

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A/N2: Sarah and seduction missions. Did she or didn't she? And, if she did, exactly what did she do? I have come to realize that there is hands-down no more sensitive topic among readers and writers of Chuck fanfiction. Folks have some very strong feelings about that aspect of her backstory. Discretion being the better part of valor, I have chosen to sidestep it almost entirely. This chapter contains the only discussion of the question that New Day will present. I have had some long, difficult and incredibly useful discussions with several of my friends here, which helped me to reach the decision to handle it in this manner. I seem to be thanking my friends often, and must, once again, express my gratitude to Zettel, David Carner, LetsGoRed, and Vurich23 (the usual suspects when I am in need of guidance and wisdom). Thanks, guys. I truly appreciate it.

A/N3: Just a reminder. Don't want to be a nag, but it would be really cool for those of you who have not registered with this site to do so. It's easy and hassle-free and I can respond to your reviews and send you PM's and stuff. Also, Facebook has a great page going dedicated just to Chuck fanfiction, so please join that too. David Carner is the moderator, because he doesn't have enough to do with juggling 127 stories simultaneously.


	62. Chapter 62

A/N: Maybe, with his new-found success as Shazam, Zachary Levi will manage to acquire ownership of Chuck. That would be cool.

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Prentiss Cuthburt considered himself a relatively cautious man. He had covered the theft of the paper meticulously, but he knew from his expertise with computers that some slight trace of his work might survive. Even if he could change all the numbers he wanted on the Summers' computers, he couldn't protect against unforeseen contingencies. There was always something just past the horizon that he couldn't predict.

In this case, that "something" was Agent Watts. Cuthburt could almost smell it. Watts was getting closer. He didn't know how, but it was like a sixth sense was warning him that it was time to flee. He'd booked a flight to London for later that day. From there he would head to Russia and from there to Taiwan. He would have liked to go directly to Taipei, but he'd be spending most of the day in American airspace if he did that. He wanted to get outside US jurisdiction as soon as possible. So, he'd called in sick to work and was packing a bag. He would leave his Pittsfield apartment within the hour and drive to Boston's Logan Airport for the flight. Once in Taiwan, he'd be safe. Especially when General Chen won the election next year.

The blackberry on his belt buzzed while he was brushing his teeth. He'd only clipped it to his belt as a matter of habit. The fucking thing was the bane of his existence. The office was constantly asking him to fix this or that. He had a staff of fourteen IT people working for him and he seemed to get all the calls anyway. He was supposed to be sick today, for God's sake. 'Well,' he thought, 'after today they'll well and truly learn to get along without me.' He stared at it for a few moments and then threw the device in the trash without responding to the message. 'Fuck them.'

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United States Secret Service Agent Thompson said, "We stick out like a sore thumb here. The desert is empty as shit." To emphasize the point, he gestured at the emptiness of the landscape with a grimace.

His partner, Agent Orly said, "You're always so negative. Look on the bright side. It's in the mid 50's. This close to Death Valley we could be doing this in hundred and ten degree weather. At least today we can keep the car's windows open."

"Awright. Fair point, I guess." He took up the binoculars and scanned the building they believed contained the printing machines a few of hundred yards down the road for the tenth time since they'd taken up the surveillance, replacing the team that had had the first shift.

"You really think Chen himself will show up"

"Naw, probably not. He'll probably send one of his men. We just have to watch it until the warrant is issued. Once we have that, they can't get any of the evidence out."

"Yeah. Hey, pass me the thermos of coffee, huh."

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Cuthburt was startled by a knock at the door. The doorman would normally have buzzed to at least tell him that he had a visitor on the way up. And anyway, it was barely noon. Who would be knocking on his door at this hour on a work day? He looked through the door's peephole and saw Agent Watts with a few men behind him. His heart sank. 'Fuck,' he thought. 'I'm screwed.'

He opened the door. "Gentlemen," he said.

"Mr. Cuthburt," said Watts, handing him a piece of paper. "Here is a warrant to search your home. You may be interested to know that a warrant for the search of your office is being executed right now. In the meantime, we'd like you to come with us to our office in Albany and have a chat." As he spoke, five agents walked past him and Watts to begin a search of his apartment.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Will you come with us willingly if I say no?" asked Watts.

From the bedroom someone yelled, "Packed bag. Looks like Mr. Cuthburt was about to take a trip."

Watts cocked an eyebrow at Cuthburt.

The man looked terrible. Sick. His fear and dread had hit him like a tidal wave. "I have to go to the bathroom," he said desperately. Watts had once had a suspect soil himself on the way to lockup, and he didn't want to live through that again.

Watts said, "Give me your phone."

Cuthburt handed it to the agent.

Watts turned to Casper and said, "Take him there. Make sure there's no fire escape from the bathroom, then bring him back when he's done."

'Come on," Casper motioned with his head. "Which way?"

Cuthburt gestured.

Casper checked the bathroom to make sure Cuthburt couldn't escape out a window.

"Kay," he said to Cuthburt.

Cuthburt went inside and locked the door behind him. He sat on the lid of the commode and sunk his head into his hands. He wanted to cry.

Casper, standing in front of the bathroom, was approached by one of the other agents.

"We good?"

"Yeah," said Casper. "Guy's inside."

"We like this guy?"

"Yeah, we do. Getting the whole thing wrapped up, looks like. We found the print shop in Nevada and we're circling the guy moving the fake stuff. We put the world's most beautiful blonde on him. The asshole doesn't stand a chance." Casper laughed.

Chuckling, his fellow agent gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder and walked away to start a search of the kitchen.

Inside the bathroom, Cuthburt took his blackberry out of the trash can.

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It had taken her almost an hour to calm down from the debacle of the Kirk seduction mission. But eventually, she had come to realize that one aborted mission did not mean that she had lost the ability to seduce a target. An incident like that might not necessarily be repeated on the next seduction mission.

But that left them to plot an alternative plan to get close to Kirk. Chuck, Casey and Sarah were talking about the possibility of putting a virus into the Casino's computer system to get Chuck in front of Kirk. The same strategy they had used with Stavros Demetrios. The phone rang.

Chuck picked it up. "Hello...Lon..." he chuckled, while looking at his partners with confusion. "Sure...really?...sure...both of us?...Yeah, we can do that. It'll be fun. No, don't expect me to bring three million to the table. If I'm playing with my own money I'm going to be a lot more cautious. Ok. See you at 7. Great."

He put down the phone and looked at Sarah and Casey in surprise. "He invited Sarah and me to play poker with him and some of his friends tonight. Upstairs."

"After I puked in his pool?" said Sarah in disbelief.

"Well, yeah. I guess that didn't bother him that much," said Chuck with a tentative shrug.

"I don't like it," said Casey. "It's too convenient. Just as we're figuring out how to get to him, he calls us."

"I agree. I'm the last person he should want to see," said Sarah.

"Well, I wasn't about to tell him we didn't want to go see him. That wouldn't make much sense, right?"

She sighed, "Yeah. That's right. But I still don't like it. Casey?"

"I agree, but how many choices do we have?"

"Well," said Chuck, "You didn't get the invite. So, you will be our back-up. We'll keep the coms open, like we did with Sarah this morning. If it hits the fan, you can come running."

"And we'll head in there loaded for bear. I'll be armed and Chuck will have his trank pistol. We've just been sitting here plotting to get closer to him. We would be pretty nuts not to go play cards with him, right?"

"I know you can play blackjack. Can you play poker too?" asked Chuck.

Sarah started to laugh and walked over to the table with the deck of cards still sitting on it. Casey and Chuck sat across from her, at her direction.

"Maybe I can't seduce a mark any more, but can I play poker?" she asked rhetorically, with a small smile. Chuck thought it was a good sign that she could make a little joke about the Kirk thing.

She began to shuffle the deck from hand to hand, quickly and smoothly. As she shuffled, she said, "Chuck you remember a couple of days ago when I was teaching you to count cards and you asked me if I was teaching you to cheat?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think of card counting as cheating. THIS is cheating."

She put the deck in front of him and said, "Cut the cards, please."

He did. Taking the cards back, she glanced out the window for a second and said, "I wonder if that storm is going to bring snow."

Both men looked out the window at the overcast sky for a moment. Casey said, "Might. It's getting pretty cold. Maybe not enough to snow, though."

Quickly, she dealt five cards to each of them.

"What do you have?" she asked.

Chuck looked at his cards. "I have a straight. Four, five, six, seven, eight."

"Casey?"

"Two pair. Fours and sevens."

Sarah set out her hand. It was a royal straight flush, spades.

"Holy shit, Sarah. How did you do that?" asked Chuck.

Sarah collected the hands and began to shuffle again. Once done, she said, "Take the top card."

Casey reached out and took a King of Hearts.

"Chuck?"

Chuck reached out and took a three of diamonds.

"Ouch," said Sarah.

She reached for the pack and took out the Ace of Spades.

"Holy shit, Sarah. Again, how'd you do that?"

She picked up the deck again and began to shuffle it again.

"I was given a book many years ago. I studied and practiced and practiced. In front of a mirror. As a magician might."

She slid the pack to Casey. "Cut the cards."

Casey did a cut. She slid them in front of Chuck. He did the same, and slid them back to her. She selected the top card. It was the Ace of Spades. She grinned at them.

"Ok. That's just freaky. Spill," said Chuck.

She patted down the cards to straighten the deck. Then she slowly lifted her right hand to show them the palm. Held in the palm of her right hand, invisible before then, was the Ace of Spades. The card was slightly bent and the tension was keeping it in place. She had been palming the card while the deck had been shuffled and cut.

"Wow. That's so cool. Ok, I understand how you could palm that card and always have it available, ...crazy that we didn't see it...but how did you manage the hands you dealt at this start of this little magic show? That was impressive."

"I had arranged a packet of cards on the deck before I ever picked it up. I knew I'd be dealing to both of you to show you what this sort of card manipulation was about. You saw the blind shuffle I wanted you to see. I held that packet of fifteen cards back on top. That packet didn't get shuffled at all."

"Ok, but I cut the cards after the shuffle. I think I'd be able to tell if the deck was missing fifteen cards."

"Oh, the cards were back in the pack when you cut it."

"So, they'd be in the middle of the deck. I know people can deal from the bottom, but not from the middle."

"Nope. Not from the middle. I recut the deck one handed when I got you both to look out the window at the weather."

"Let's see," said Casey.

She held the deck in one hand in the center of her palm of her left hand. As they watched, she used the index and pinkie fingers of her hand to lever up half the deck and the two bottom fingers to push the other half up, dropping the first pile down and the top one on top of what had become the bottom one. The whole movement had taken about a second. She had looked at them while doing it, not down at her hand.

"Holy shit," said Chuck. "That's awesome. You say you learned this from a book?"

"Well, somewhat. It's a long story."

"Remind me not to play cards with you, Walker," said Casey, shaking his head.

"Maybe, Case," said Chuck, "but I'm looking forward to having her play with Kirk. This is gonna be fun."

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Both armed with their weapons of choice, Chuck and Sarah rode the elevator to the penthouse of the hotel. She was dressed in jeans and a purple blouse, her hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her blouse hung loose at her waist and hid the holster for her weapon. Chuck was in jeans, a light sport jacket, and an open neck shirt.

He looked at her with love and said, "You look beautiful tonight. As always."

In their ears, they heard Casey say, "Thanks, Bartowski. I like that jacket on you too." They started to laugh when Casey followed up by saying, "And who says I'm not funny?"

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There was a knock on the door to the suite and Casey went to answer it, his pistol in his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Package, Mr. Carmichael. Might be important, Sir. It's from the Secret Service."

'Ah, crap.' He thought. 'Fucking idiots. There goes our cover. Godammit.'

He looked through the peephole and saw a bellman, and then opened the door.

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Chuck and Sarah were still laughing when the elevator doors opened. There was Lon Kirk. He was standing with Tony Blackman and five of Blackman's men. In total, there were six guns pointed at them. They stopped laughing.

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The door to the suite burst open as two men, one dressed as a bellman, slammed inside, knocking Casey back and knocking the gun out of his hand with the edge of the door. Casey found himself facing two guns, held in rock steady hands and pointed at his center of mass.

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The stars can be beautiful in the desert night, but not this night. The sky was overcast and the wind had freshened. The storm was about ready to break.

Thompson said, "Let's close the window. It's getting chilly. Looks like a storm is coming."

Orly said, "I like it open. I like the night desert air. It's healthy."

There was a slight noise from the desert side of the car. Both men looked in that direction. Li-fu, former-Taiwanese commando, dressed in black from head to foot, his face covered in black camo paint, was standing by the side of the car with a pistol. He fired four shots into the car, killing each of the agents instantly with double-tap head shots. He put his H&K Mod24, chambered for the large .45 caliber round, back into his holster at his hip. He had borrowed the weapon from Colonel Blackman's group, along with the other gear he was using this evening.

He moved to the driver's side door and opened it. Pushing Orly's body over to the passenger side, to lie atop Thompson's body, Li-fu took a position in the driver's seat, ignoring the mess he had made, and started the car. He flashed the headlights twice and was rewarded with the double flash of a flashlight from the building in the distance.

He drove there quickly, passing a black minivan on his way through the doors to the garage. The minivan followed him inside, one of his men closing the large sliding doors behind both cars. The man at the door flipped a switch, illuminating the inside of the space with overhead lights. The building was a large garage, big enough to hold several trucks at the same time. The two cars were the only vehicles there at the moment. In the center of the room, surrounded by racks with tools, ink, and other equipment were two large machines. The first was a printing press and the second was a precision cutting machine to cut the sheets of newly printed money into single note sizes.

Chen watched calmly from the passenger seat as the operation was carried out. First the plates were removed from the press, carefully wrapped in heavy cloth and placed in the back of the minivan. Then the recently printed counterfeit money, bundled into plastic wrapped stacks, was placed into a large canvas sail bag and put into the minivan on top of the plates.

While that was going on Li-fu had placed AN/M14 incendiary grenades onto each of the two machines and one into the car with the bodies of the two Secret Service agents. Then he poured gasoline from a jerry can onto the floor of the building around the machines and near the office area in a corner.

Another man found the box with the fire alarm system and cut the wires to disable it, then he got into the driver's seat of the minivan and turned it around to face the door. Li-fu opened the sliding doors to the building and the minivan drove a few feet out onto the paving outside the building.

Li-fu went back inside and pulled the pins on all three grenades. There was a quick fuse on that variety of grenade, so he ran from the building to the minivan, to make sure he wasn't splattered with any thermite as the grenades detonated.

Each of the grenades ignited with a dull whoomp noise. The burning thermite would reduce the machines to slag and destroy the bodies of the dead men. The vapor from the gasoline ignited next, with a much louder WHOOMP. The windows blew out and the entire building began to burn. The open door and empty windows provided ample oxygen to feed the flames. The fire was visible from I-15 to the west, and would no doubt be called in to the fire department, but by the time they arrived all evidence contained in the building would be gone. A light rain had begun to fall, but not nearly enough to dampen the flames.

The four men drove away. Not a word had been spoken or had been necessary.

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A/N2: The book Sarah referred to is called Expert at the Card Table and was written (anonymously) under the name S.W. Erdnase. Although over 100 years old, it remains the definitive guide to card manipulation. Here's where I stretched realism though. Cards are a fixed size. Hands are not. Some of the things Sarah pulled off would, likely, require larger hands than Ms. Strahovski probably possesses and would be easier for someone with Chuck's or Casey's hand size to manage. But seriously, though, does anyone think that Jack Burton neglected to teach his baby girl how to cheat at cards?

A/N3: Cliffies. I know some of you hate those, so I'll ease a little of the tension. The good guys win. There. Hope that tides you over until next Saturday. If you want to complain about cliffhangers, leave a review.


	63. Chapter 63

A/N: One year ago today I posted the first chapter of New Day. Since that time, this story has had thousands of reads, well over a thousand reviews, and has been favorited and followed by hundreds of you. I honestly cannot thank you all enough. If I (or any of us writers here) were to post a story and never hear a word about it, this nutty little hobby would get really boring really fast. It is the feedback and interaction with the readers and new friends that makes this as much fun as it is. Thank you all so much. Oh, and I don't own...well, you know.

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Here are a few things you may have forgotten, but might need to know. The CIO of Summers Currency has been taken in for questioning by the Secret Service on suspicion of providing actual currency paper to counterfeiters, but not before he was able to send a message. Sarah and Chuck have been captured by Lon Kirk and Tony Blackman's men. Two of Blackman's men have taken Casey at gunpoint in his hotel suite as well. The Secret Service agents staking out the printing facility in Roach, Nevada have been murdered and the facility itself (but not the printing plates) has been torched. The fake money has been taken out of the facility by Chen and his men. Overall, our heroes have been having a very bad day. Let's see what happens next.

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Kirk smiled at Chuck and Sarah. "Good evening, Chuck. Sarah. Please do step out of the elevator with your hands raised. Isn't that what they say on the TV shows?"

Chuck and Sarah stepped out of the elevator with their hands raised.

"Now that's good of you. Colonel Blackman and his men might have had to shoot you otherwise and that would make a mess on my carpet."

Blackman gestured to one of his men. The man holstered his weapon and stepped forward toward Chuck and Sarah. He made a point of approaching them from the side, so as not to block the shot of any of the other men. He began to frisk them for weapons. He searched them thoroughly, but professionally. He did not shy away from checking Sarah's crotch or breasts, but did not linger there. Her gun and knives were found and removed. Chuck's trank gun was found and removed.

"Ok. They are clean," he said, moving away from them to the side.

Blackman took the weapons from the man. He looked at the knives with appreciation. "Nice knives. Where'd you get them?"

"Birthday present," said Sarah, levelly.

"Kirk, I really have to ask you something. Something serious, ok? What the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Chuck.

"Well, that's pretty simple, Chuck. I'm going to take you and Sarah out to the mountains, have you shot and killed and bury your bodies in the desert. It's not a complicated plan. I'm not like some crazy Bond villain who's going to set you up to be eaten by a shark and then leave you alone to figure a way out of it. No, I'm just going to have you shot. The only reason you are still alive is that it's easier to have you walk than to carry your bodies. If you prove difficult, we can do it the other way. It's entirely up to you."

"Now, I see. That's a straightforward plan. I don't really like it, for obvious reasons, but it's simple enough," said Chuck. "But what happens next? How do you get away with this? If we are here looking at you guys, don't you think we have bosses?"

"Maybe. But I'll worry about that tomorrow. For today, I just get to shut down the whole operation. The entirety of the counterfeiting thing. Every piece will be done and gone before the sun comes up tomorrow. Totally clean house. All the evidence destroyed."

While they were talking, one of Blackman's men bound their hands in front of them with zip ties.

"Lon, listen to me. That's just the kind of short term thinking that you need to avoid in this situation. We know that Chen is the real bad guy here. He's forcing you to move the fake money. You are acting under duress. That's an actual legal defense. You know that you can cut a deal and turn on him. You know that, right? State's evidence or something. You'll hire the same lawyers that got OJ off and figure something out. Just think of the kind of deal you can cut. You'll end up as the hero of the story, if you do it right. Chen ends up in jail. It's a win/win. You certainly won't get the same deal if you kill us. It's not too late to get on the right side of this thing, Lon."

"Chuck, you're a nice kid. I sort of wonder how you ended up in this job, to be honest. But listen to me. I killed the last guy your bosses put into my organization and buried his body in the desert. You really think anyone is going to cut me a deal? That bridge has been burned long ago, son."

Chuck wasn't sure how to reply to that.

Kirk stepped up to Sarah. He said, "I don't have to tell you that you have been a tremendous disappointment to me, Sarah. A tremendous disappointment." He reached out and pinched her hard, staring into her eyes. She didn't react at all, so he twisted the pinched flesh. She inhaled sharply through her nose, clenched her teeth and squinted her eyes in rage, but made no sound. He smiled a little bit.

Chuck tried to lunge at Kirk, but two of Blackman's men held him back. He hissed at Kirk with obvious fury, "Big man, right? You're an asshole, Kirk. Fucking asshole. You like to hurt defenseless women, right? It's how you get your jollies, you sick fuck?"

Kirk let go of Sarah and looked at Chuck with a neutral expression and said, simply, "Yes. It is." He turned back to Sarah and said, "You are a tough one. I wish I had time to break you, but unfortunately, business before pleasure." He spoke with real regret. "Come on, guys. Let's take them to the mountains. Oh, and you may be interested to know that your backup, Mr. Casey, has been taken by another two of our men. So, he'll meet us at the mountains and die with you there. No salvation for you two from that direction."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Casey stepped backwards deeper into the suite as the two men with guns entered and closed the door. He didn't say anything.

One of the men said, "Here's what's going to happen. We are going to walk out of this building together. We are going to get into your car together. It's already been called and is out in front of the hotel waiting for us. We are going to drive to the desert. There, you will meet your friends for a little reunion. The alternative is that we kill you here and have the hassle of disposing of your body. Your call, Ace."

The men were standing outside of arms length and were well apart from each other to keep him covered. If he attacked one of them, the other would shoot him. Not good odds.

He slumped and allowed his face to fall, to all appearances showing dejected resignation. In his ear he heard that Chuck and Sarah had been taken as well and were being escorted from the hotel by Kirk and Blackman.

The man who had been speaking gestured to his partner in the bellman's uniform. The man holstered his weapon under his bellman's jacket and stepped forward with a zip tie to bind Casey's hands.

As he stepped forward, he blocked the other man's aim. Rookie mistake. Casey reacted instantly. Without the slightest warning, he jumped forward and punched Bellman in the throat with the weight of his lunging body lending force to the blow, and continued rushing forward to slam Bellman's body against Gunman behind him. While Gunman was trying to get his pistol around his partner to aim at Casey, Casey grabbed the weapon with one hand and twisted it to aim away from him. The man's index finger was on the trigger and the trigger guard broke his finger. The man yelled in pain. The gun came loose into Casey's hand, but he was holding it reversed.

Bellman hit Casey with a weak left hand while trying to gasp a breath in through his damaged throat. Casey ignored the punch and hit him twice in the head as hard as he could with the side of the gun he was holding. The man staggered away, bleeding profusely from a scalp wound.

As Bellman fell, Gunman swung a roundhouse kick that caught Casey on the side of his face, made him see stars, and split his lip. The man followed up with a straight side kick that caught Casey in the center of the chest. Casey dropped the gun he was holding and grabbed at Gunman's foot. Still holding the foot, Casey spun backwards, spinning the man off balance to crash into the mirror near the side of the door, shattering it. The other man was agile and, with Casey still holding one leg, he jumped off the other foot to aim a kick at Casey's head. Casey had to let go of the man's leg to block the kick.

Casey moved in quickly and tackled the man. They both tripped over the body of Bellman, who was stunned on the floor. As they fell Casey aimed a knee at Bellman and caught him in the side of the jaw, probably breaking it. Gunman let go of Casey with one hand and grabbed at a shard of the mirror. He stabbed at Casey's middle with a shout. Casey twisted to the side and the sharp glass skidded over a rib, opening a gash. He continued the twist adding power to an elbow strike that broke the man's nose. Gunman stabbed again with the glass, but he had cut his own hand on the sharp edge and his own blood made it slippery. The shard of glass fell to the floor. Casey was trying to get to Bellman's gun from the holster behind the man's back. As it cleared the holster, Gunman also reached for it and knocked it out of Casey's hand to skid across the carpet to end up under the couch.

The men separated, stood, and faced off against each other. Gunman was younger than Casey and not as muscular, but he was tough and skilled. Casey moved straight in to him and caught him with a right, left, right combination. The man partially blocked the blows and snapped a kick to Casey's groin, which bounced off his thigh as Casey twisted his hips to cover the target. Casey continued on to tackle the man once again. With his added size and strength, he figured that he stood a better chance grappling. Together they crashed through a standing lamp to land on a glass coffee table, which shattered under their weight. Casey grabbed one of the metal legs of the broken table and hit the man with it. The man rolled over and tried to block the blow.

Casey found that one end of the metal table leg was sharply angled where it had connected to the top of the table. He knocked the other man's arm aside and stabbed him in the chest with the sharp end. Gunman groaned hard and shuddered under Casey's make-shift spear. Casey pushed it down harder and Gunman became still, his eyes glassy. Blood bubbled from the man's mouth.

That's when Bellman hit Casey from behind with a chair. The chair legs bounced off his shoulder and sent him flying to land by the broken coffee table. Bellman looked much worse for the fight, but then again, Casey probably didn't look too good himself.

Casey grabbed the fallen lamp and twisted it to put the broken light bulb towards Bellman's face. It was sparking a little. The man was no idiot and kicked at the light cord. The sparking stopped as the lamp was unplugged. Casey tried to swing the heavy base of the lamp at his opponent, but it was unwieldy weapon. He ended up throwing it at the man.

The man dodged it and came at him with one of the legs from the broken table. Casey grabbed the table leg and tried to lever it away from his chest. The other man put both hands on it and shoved it forward, trying to impale Casey as Casey had impaled his partner. He pushed Casey back to slam his lower back on the edge of the suite's bar.

Casey reached behind him and grabbed a saucer from under a coffee cup. He smashed it down on the edge of the counter and ripped the jagged edge against the side of Bellman's neck. Blood spurted out and the man staggered back putting both hands up towards his neck to try to stop the bleeding. Casey held on to the table leg and smashed it across the man's head. The man went down and stopped moving.

Casey picked up his gun from the floor, grabbed his phone and jacket and ran from the suite.

Running down the corridor, he touched his watch and said, "Chuck, Sarah, I'm on my way."

XXXXXXXXXXX

The mountains. That's where Kirk had said they were being taken to be killed. The mountains. There were a handful of small ranges around the city, including one called the Las Vegas Range. Kirk and Blackman had no intention of taking Chuck and Sarah to any of them, however. They were heading to Seven Magic Mountains.

Seven Magic Mountains is a massive sculpture to the south of the city, off of Las Vegas Boulevard, but a few hundred yards into the desert. It is a collection of seven pillars of stone boulders, between 30 and 35 feet high and created by the Swiss artist Ugo Rondinone. Each pillar is composed of boulders roughly the size of a small car and painted bright, almost day-glo, colors. In daylight it's a spectacular sight, but it was somewhat muted by the cloudy, rainy night.

The two SUV's pulled up to the parking lot and everyone got out, Chuck and Sarah at gunpoint. Rain was falling and the temperature was in the low 40's. Chuck said, "Let me give Sarah my jacket. It's cold out."

Kirk laughed without humor and said, "Neither one of you is going to be uncomfortable for long. Just suffer through it."

They took out flashlights and began to walk across the desert sand to the pillars, about three hundred yards from the parking area. Soon, Chuck and Sarah were soaked and shivering in the cold, but their captors didn't seem to notice or care. They were prodded along.

In the lee of one of the pillars they stopped to wait. Blackman approached Kirk carrying a large hard plastic case.

"Ok, Lon," he said. "Here's the weapon we were talking about. Last thing we want is a fair fight with a bunch of ex-commandos, Taiwanese or otherwise."

"Tell me how to use it. I want to do it myself. That sonofabitch Chen has been a real asshole, Tony. All the evidence against me is in that car. Once Chen and his men are gone, we can kill these two and their partner. After that, there's nothing they can use against us."

Blackman hadn't heard from the men he'd sent to pick up Casey, but decided not to worry about that at the moment. He took a missile out of the carrying case and began to assemble both it and a bipod to hold the mouth end of the weapon. The launcher itself was a four foot long tube, with the bipod mounting on one end. Attached 2/3 of the way down the left side of the tube was a control mechanism with an optical sight.

"Ok, Lon. This is called an M47 Dragon. It fires an anti-tank missile. It is optically guided. That means the whatever you are looking at through this sight," Blackman gestured at the sight, "gets blown up. If the target is moving, just keep looking at it through this and you will hit it. There's a long thin wire that spools out behind the rocket in flight and tells the rocket where to go...where the sight is sending it." He installed the battery and tested it. Then he flipped a switch on the side. "Ok. The weapon is live. I've taken off the safety. You just sit here. Look through that and press this trigger. You keep looking at your target until it goes boom. Any questions?"

"Nope. All good. I'm looking forward to incinerating that Taiwanese prick," said Kirk. He took out his phone and called Chen. The General's minivan was about five minutes out from the parking lot. Chen agreed that he'd call again when he was closer. He had no idea his partner was about to betray him in the most dramatic fashion imaginable.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Casey drove with one hand, the other hand held his phone and watched the tracker signal for the whereabouts of his partners. He was driving very fast and trying to multi-task.

He got Kendler on the speaker phone.

"Kendler, it's Casey. It's hitting the fan. Kirk and his men have taken Chuck and Sarah. They tried with me, but I took out the guys sent to get me. I've got my partners on tracker and it looks like they are at Seven Magic Mountains. From what I'm hearing, it sounds like Kirk and Blackman are expecting Chen and are going to ambush him with a missile."

"A missile? Holy fuck. Ok. We're on our way. They torched the printing building and looks like they killed the men I had on watch. We'll be there asap. Good luck, Major."

As he approached the spot where the tracker put his partners, he killed the lights on the Crown Vic.

He could see lights out at the pillars. He drove past the parking lot and a little way further along Las Vegas Boulevard. At this distance from the city, the boulevard was an empty two lane road with nothing but table flat desert on either side, with I-15 a little bit to the west of the road. He flipped a switch inside the car to disable the brake lights, then pulled off the road on the far side of the highway. The dark car with no lights would hopefully not be noticed. Although the pillars were several hundred yards into the desert, the path to them ran at an acute angle to the road, so cutting across the desert from the road would only put them a hundred yards or so from where he had pulled off.

He reached behind him and lifted the backseat seat cushion. From underneath he removed an M16A4 rifle and a pouch of magazines. He quickly loaded a magazine into the weapon and chambered a 5.56mm round. Slinging the pouch over a shoulder, he took a pair of night vision goggles from the glove compartment and pulled it over his head. Finally, he grabbed a compact medical kit from under a seat and slung it next to the pouch of ammo.

With one last look at his phone to confirm the location of Chuck and Sarah, he left his car. The dome light had been disabled and he hoped his departure went unnoticed. He crossed the empty street and ran into the desert, navigating by use of the NVG's covering his eyes. The sand was hard and there was only light scrub growing, so running was easy. He splashed through the occasional puddle. In dry weather, in daylight, he would have been visible from the dust cloud he would have thrown up, but in these conditions, he wasn't. He kept as low as possible while trying to move quickly. He ran straight past the pillars and the men there a few hundred yards from his position. He intended to circle around and approach them from the desert side of the pillars, assuming they would be paying the most attention to the parking lot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxx

Sarah and Chuck stood near each other, shivering with cold and wet, their hair plastered down onto their foreheads. Blackman and Kirk were off to the side, preparing the missile to take out Chen's car. That left five men guarding them, all standing around and mostly watching the parking lot. One man seemed intent on watching her to see just how transparent her blouse became in the freezing rain.

Kirk answered his phone and heard that Chen was arriving in the parking area in a moment.

Casey's voice in their ears said, "I'm in position about a hundred yards into the desert from you. There's no cover. I need a distraction to get closer."

Sarah made a uhhh-huuuhhh noise, then said to Chuck, "vang rur maw' DeSDu' jIH. vaj Ha' DeSDu' chongaghpa' vang rur QochQo'chuqlaw' muqIp." [Act like you are mad at me. Then come at me to act like you are going to hit me.]

He stared at her for a couple of moments, shocked at what he had just heard. "yIruch," [Do it] she yelled at him.

"You witch," Chuck screamed at her. "How dare you talk to me like that." All the men turned to look at the two of them. Chuck could feel the grip on his arm loosen slightly with the man's distraction.

He pulled away from the man holding his arm and lunged at Sarah. She redirected his lunge and tripped him to the ground. He immediately rolled away so as not to get under her feet.

She spun in a back kick to catch the nearest man in the throat with the heel of her foot. He flew backwards. At the same time, she raised both bound hands high over her head and brought them down very fast to her waist. Keeping her elbows bent, she brushed her elbows and forearms against her hip bones as her bound hands hit her stomach just below her belly button. The zip tie snapped and flew off her wrists.

Casey opened fire from the blackness of the desert. A man fell. Then another one. These were combat veterans, though, and reacted swiftly, taking cover behind the colorful boulders. Sarah grabbed a gun from one of the dead men. The man she had kicked was recovering quickly and reaching for his weapon. Still crouched by the downed man, she shot the other one twice in the center of the chest then dove for the boulder that Chuck had taken cover behind. Bullets impacted into the sand where she had stood a moment ago. Counting Blackman and Kirk, there would still be four bad guys out there. The entire scene was lit only by the light cast by the fallen flashlights of Blackman's men. Eerie.

With seven huge columns of stone, there were ample places for both sets of combatants to seek cover and maneuver to obtain the advantage over their opponents. The danger, for both sides, was extreme.

Chen's minivan picked this time to pull into the parking lot. Kirk was kneeling behind the missile, pointing it towards Chen's car. Chuck vividly remembered Kirk pinching Sarah. He said to Sarah, "I'm going after Kirk."

Casey had run up among the pillars by this point. They heard a pistol shot followed a moment later by three shots from Casey's rifle and the thud of a falling body.

Casey said, into their ears, "I've got you, kid. Go for it."

"Right. Be careful," Sarah said.

Kirk pulled the trigger on the optically guided anti-tank missile, but nothing happened for a few moments. There was a rising whine sound. Then, the rocket was launched from the tube. It traveled about a hundred feet or so when three thrusters on the sides of the rocket body ignited and began to propel it toward Chen's minivan.

That's when Chuck tackled Kirk. The missile tube, with its optical sight, flew from his hands and the flying rocket, guided by the tube itself went off course to careen through the rainy desert air.

Chuck and Kirk began to wrestle on the ground. Neither man was particularly skilled at fighting, but Chuck was stronger and younger.

The flying rocket flew off into the desert across the road from where they were. Whatever target it hit erupted in a dramatic fireball. Casey looked in that direction and said, "Aw, shit."

With the explosion in the nighttime desert, Chen's minivan turned around in the parking lot to flee the scene. At that moment, three back SUV's with the flashing lights of law enforcement pulled up into the parking lot and blocked any further movement by the minivan. A dozen furious USSS agents got out and swarmed Chen's car with guns drawn, screaming orders.

Sarah saw a man near her aiming at someone. Although she couldn't see his target from her vantage point, she killed him anyway. In her ear she heard Casey say, "Thanks, Walker." The men in the minivan in the parking lot surrendered and several agents began to run along the sandy path towards the pillars.

The last of Blackman's men stepped out with his empty hands raised, and Walker directed him to lie on the wet sand face down. Casey and Sarah began to call out to the running agents approaching her position. The last thing they needed was for the agents to misidentify the good guys for bad guys.

Chuck was rolling around with Kirk and had gotten a position on the man's back. Although his hands were still bound by the zip tie, he had his arm around Kirk's neck with the bicep and forearm on either side. Kirk was trying unsuccessfully to pry Chuck's arms away from his neck with one hand and throwing his elbow back repeatedly into Chuck's middle with the other arm. Chuck was ignoring the blows, which skidded off his hard stomach muscles.

Casey approached and said, "Are you choking him out?"

"No, Case. It's a sleeper hold. Just like you taught me," said Chuck, a little out of breath. As he was saying that, Kirk collapsed.

"You blew up my car," Casey said, bending to roll Kirk's body off of Chuck.

"Aw, shit, Case. I'm sorry. But I think, technically, Kirk blew up your car. He pulled the trigger."

"Yeah, but you..."

"Where's Blackman?" asked Sarah with urgency.

The USSS agents arrived. Kendler was just taking stock of the scene at the pillars when Tony Blackman stepped out from behind a pillar of stone with a gun in his hand pointed their way. Kendler seemed to blur, but suddenly there was a gun in her hand firing twice. She stepped forward to Blackman as he collapsed to the sand and kicked the gun from his hand.

Casey breathed, in awe, "Jesus."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck and Sarah sitting in the warm Secret Service SUV. They were snuggling together for warmth and wrapped in blankets with the heater in the car going full blast. It was only moments ago that they had stopped shivering.

"When did you learn Klingon?" asked Chuck

"A few days ago."

"Just a few days? So fast?" he asked, with a small smile. His girlfriend was the most amazing person on the planet.

She gave him a cocky grin and said, "Hey, linguistics major from Harvard, remember? Languages are kind of my thing. I took the book from your shelf when we were packing. Seemed like a good thing for me to know. I thought it might come in handy someday," she responded with a smile.

"Like today?"

"Yup." She popped the 'p,' still grinning.

He kissed her and said, "I love you."

"I love you right back," she replied.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: Anachronism alert. Seven Magic Mountains is a real art installation outside Las Vegas, but it wasn't created until 2016. I thought it was cool enough that I wanted to put it in the story, though. Please do check out some pictures of it online. I visited it in 2018 and it's pretty spectacular, and really is in the middle of nowhere in the desert.

A/N3: The canon episode used a GPS guided, shoulder-fired missile. There is no such thing.

A/N4: Snapping the zip ties as Sarah did is real. The locking mechanism is a tooth and tab type where a little piece of plastic engages with the plastic teeth of the tie inside the lock. When subjected to the sudden stress that Sarah put on it, the little bit of plastic snaps. If you check it out on the Internet you will find any number of demonstrations. It's a wonder that zip ties are still used as restraints.

A/N5: The book Sarah took from Chuck's shelf is The Klingon Dictionary by Marc Okrand. I'm looking at my copy as I type this.

A/N6: So, I had a little bit of surgery on my shoulder the other day. (No worries, I'm fine.) I can't type for a few weeks though. I have a backlog of chapters ready to post on my own little idiosyncratic Saturday morning schedule for the next month. I hope to be back in the saddle by then and able to continue writing without a gap or delay. But, I'm not going to be able to respond to reviews or PM's for a while. Please be assured that I still love you all, but I'm going to be unavoidably radio silent. Do not take it personally.


	64. Chapter 64

A/N: Christmas in October. And this from a guy who becomes totally annoyed by anything Christmas-related before Thanksgiving. Sorry, guys. The problem is that this is just where this chapter fell and I didn't want to hold it or rearrange things. So, for any readers who agree that it is unacceptable that Christmas is becoming a 13 month long holiday, please believe me that my heart, at least, is in the right place. Oh, and I do not expect to receive ownership of Chuck in my Christmas stocking.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Some part of Chuck's sleeping brain was able to keep track of whether Sarah was in bed with him. Her movement and the slight lifting of the mattress would register deep in his subconscious. Asleep as he was, he knew she was still in bed, but there was something different. She wasn't snuggled up to him, keeping herself and her feet warm. Experimentally, he opened a single eye just a little bit. Sarah was sitting on her side of the bed crosslegged and just watching him sleep. Her hair was mussed from sleep, but her blue eyes were sparkling. She had a fun, warm, expectant, impatient look on her face.

"Oh, so you're finally up," she said with a happy smile. "Merry Christmas."

"What time is it?" he asked.

"6:35. I was going to wait until 7 to wake you, sleepy-head. Don't you want to know what Santa brought you? What's under the tree?"

"You're like a little kid," he said, smiling at her warmly. He loved her so much.

"I can't remember the last time I had Christmas...a Christmas celebration. I normally really hate Christmas. Hate it. I've flat out ignored it most years. And before that...well, let's just say I have no happy memories to fall back on. But this time, I'm really excited for some reason," she bubbled and bounced a little on the bed.

Chuck started laughing softly. "I can tell. I told you a Bartowski Christmas was heartwarming."

"So?" She ran a soft hand through his curls, one of her absolute favorite things to do. "Presents?"

He smiled at her, happier than he could ever remember being. Just a few short months ago he had been wallowing in his post-Stanford, post-Jill funk, and now ...now...he was really, really happy. He was a graduate (with distinction) from Stanford. He was doing something with his life that was incredibly satisfying, really helping people. And he was in the most wonderful loving relationship with the world's most amazing person. It boggled his mind how much had changed in just a few short months to leave behind five years of suck. He smiled broadly and laid a gentle hand on the inside of her thigh and said, "Well, I think I have an idea what my very first Christmas present of the day is going to be..."

She grinned down at him and giggled, "Oh, you do, do you? Hmmmm. What if that's actually _my_ first Christmas present of the day? Huh?" She bent over and kissed him, still grinning.

It was after 7:30 by the time they made it out of bed.

She pulled on long flannel jumper pajamas, ones complete with little feeties. He just pulled a tee shirt over his PJ bottoms. Sarah immediately went to the Christmas tree and plugged it in, marveling at how nice it looked and how much fun she'd had decorating it with the Bartowskis.

Next, they went to the kitchen and started a big pot of coffee. Sarah said, with an impatient pout, "When do I get my presents?"

"After breakfast, my impatient but adorable girlfriend."

She giggled again. Rumpled, sleep tossed, without any make-up at all, and wearing her silly pajamas, Chuck thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He smiled at her and said, "I love you so much right now."

"More than a little while ago?" she asked with a salacious grin, cocking an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Maybe," he said.

She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "If I have to wait til breakfast is over, then let's get cracking."

"Kay."

She took out grapefruit, blood oranges, ruby red grapefruit, tangerines, and meyer lemons, peeled them and began to slice them into rounds while the oven pre-heated. Once they were ready, she put them aside and began to mix the dry ingredients for the Dutch Baby, a giant sweet puffy pancake cooked in a single pan. By the time the oven was hot enough, Chuck had finished mixing the ingredients for a bacon, egg, and cheese casserole.

Devon came out of his room and said, "Morning, guys. Do I smell coffee?"

"You do, Dr. Woodcomb. Merry Christmas. Breakfast in ten," said Sarah, pouring him a cup of coffee. "That work for you guys?"

"Awesome. I'll let Ellie know," he took his coffee and meandered back to his bedroom.

Ellie came out and squealed when she saw Sarah's cute PJ's. Chuck and Sarah laid out the breakfast as Ellie and Devon sat at the table. Bacon, egg and cheese casserole. Dutch Baby. Citrus Salad with a little prosecco and some blanched almonds on top. Ellie and Devon oohhhh'ed and ahhhh'ed at the meal. Ellie attributing all of Chuck's newfound cooking skill to Sarah's beneficial influence.

After the table had been cleared, it was time for presents.

Ellie said, "You two go first."

"Ok. Chuck, you first," said Sarah. She reached under the tree and took out a small box. "This is for you." She handed it to him.

He shook it and said, "Ok. Not a basketball." He opened it to find a small red jewelry case. Opening the case, he found a pair of silver cufflinks with actual circuit boards as the design. "Oh, my God. These are so cool. Circuit board cufflinks. That's great. I love them."

Sarah looked like she would pop from happiness. "Really?"

"Yeah. They're fantastic. Thank you, sweetie." He reached for her and gave her a kiss.

"Well, I have a boyfriend who's an electrical engineer, I thought he should have cufflinks that show that off. We'll go shopping for shirts with French cuffs."

"That's awesome, Sarah," said Devon, with his typical enthusiasm.

Chuck said, "Ok. Your turn." He picked up a small gift bag and handed it to her. She reached inside and found a small black cloth drawstring bag.

She opened the little black bag and spilled a silver charm bracelet onto her palm. Ellie made a small strangled sound and put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes began to fill. Sarah glanced at her, a little confused. Holding it up, she said, softly, "Oh, Chuck, it's lovely."

Chuck said, with a small smile, his eyes warm and loving, "I'm glad you like it. It's good luck. It was my mother's. My father gave it to her when Ellie was born."

Ellie began to cry, all the while smiling a happy smile.

Looking back and forth between brother and sister, Sarah said, "Oh. Oh, my God." Sarah immediately understood that the significance of the gift dwarfed its value as a mere piece of jewelry. She started to cry a little herself. "Thank you. Thank you, Chuck." She pulled him into a hug and kissed him. She got up and went to Ellie, "Can you help me put it on?" Ellie, still crying, put the bracelet on Sarah's wrist, then immediately wrapped her in a crushing bear hug.

"Sister," she whispered to Sarah.

"Sister," Sarah whispered back. Both women pulled apart a little and grinned at each other, then went back to hugging. Sarah pulled back and said, "I'm leaving Chuck out of the hugging and he's the one who gave it to me."

Ellie separated and shoo'ed Sarah with the back of her hand, "Go."

Sarah launched herself back at Chuck and kissed him soundly. Tears in her eyes, she said, "I love it. Thank you so much." She perched herself in his lap, waggling her new bracelet in his face, kicking her pajama clad feet in the air and said, gleefully, "Ellie, your turn."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Langston Graham was sitting in his easy chair eating caramel popcorn with his grandson, Jimmy, while they watched It's a Wonderful Life. Kevin might be grumpy about his spot at the Pentagon, but Graham was happy to have him in DC and close to home. It was a joy to see his grandkids regularly. His cell phone rang and he smiled as he answered it, putting the TV on pause. "Hi, Sarah."

"Hi. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. What are you up to?"

"I'm at Chuck's. We exchanged presents this morning. We're cooking for dinner tonight. Casey is baking some pies for dessert. And we're about to start a Twilight Zone marathon. How about you?"

"Watching TV with Jimmy."

"It's a Wonderful Life?"

"Of course. Want to say hello to him?"

"Sure. Put him on."

Graham turned to his grandson and said, "It's your Aunt Sarah. She wants to say Merry Christmas."

Jimmy looked up with big eyes and said, a little hesitantly, "Aunt Sarah?"

"Yeah," said Graham. "Say hi."

He took the phone from the older man and said, "Hi." He listened for a moment and, laughing and looking at his grandfather, said "Yeah, he is." Jimmy dissolved into a fit of giggles. Graham stuck his tongue out at the boy, which just made him giggle more.

From the other room, Anna called out, "Who is it?"

Graham responded, "Sarah."

Anna rushed in, wiping her hands on a dish towel, "I get her next, Jimmy."

Graham thought about Team Bartowski and smiled to himself. Sarah and her team had had another huge success, wrapping up Kirk, who had proven to be a very bad man, and taking Chen out of play. Taiwan was going be a lot calmer with that rabble-rouser off the gameboard. He'd have to call his opposite number at the MSS to thank him again for the lead. He chuckled a little. Major Casey had certainly been more than satisfied when he had overruled Diane (it was CIA stake money after all) and told the Major to use Chuck's winnings at the blackjack table to buy himself a new car. It might have been one of the reasons Casey had called him directly, without his teammates or Beckman on the phone, with his proposed solution to the problem of Sarah running seduction missions in the future. Graham had thought it a perfectly fine idea and told the Major that he would put the wheels in motion.

It was almost two hours later that Graham got the phone back. Sarah had talked to Anna, tried to talk to the baby, spent a long time with Kevin talking about flying (as usual), some time with Kevin's wife, Mickey, and almost a full hour with Karen. She had apparently promised, multiple times, to bring Chuck to the house for a visit the next time they were back east.

By the time he got to talk to her again, she had to run off the phone to help the Bartowski clan prepare dinner. But...as she was signing off she said, "Umm... uh... Merry Christmas." She never could say 'love you,' but he knew she did.

He responded, "Love you. Merry Christmas, Sarah. Thanks for calling."

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Devon, Ellie, Chuck, Sarah, and Casey raised their glasses. Devon said, "Merry Christmas." They all repeated, "Merry Christmas," and clicked their glasses together. Sarah's new bracelet glittered in the candlelight.

Dinner was a big affair. A shaved brusels sprout salad (with apple and walnuts), glazed ham, cheesy hasselback potatoes, creamed spinach, roasted radishes (with anchovies), and popovers. For dessert, Casey had made a ginger/mixed berry pie and his ever-popular apple pie. Chuck had remembered the cheddar cheese this time.

Morgan was with Lou and some friends of hers, but told Chuck that they would try to come by after dinner to exchange gifts. He said he couldn't possibly miss the Bartowski eggnog.

After a while, the conversation drifted to politics. Devon said, "I don't see how it can't hurt Romney. I mean, he was a big donor. There are pictures of the two of them grinning at the camera with their arms around each other. I'm sure he'll lose some of the women's vote as a result. And all Kirk's other political friends are running for the hills as fast as their feet can carry them. Claiming they barely knew the guy."

"Maybe Romney will lose some votes," said Ellie. "But he did take all the money Kirk contributed to his campaign and donate it to battered women's shelters around the country. That was a lot of money."

"You don't think it's too little too late? I mean he'd have been happy to keep the money when Kirk hadn't been caught."

"Oh, I don't think that's true, honey. It's not like anyone knew this guy was bad. Your question sort of supposes that people were perfectly happy to keep working with him while knowing he was a murderer. I don't think anyone knew."

"Did any news channels air that tape of the murder in Taipei?" asked Chuck.

"I don't think so," said Casey. "They all decided it was too graphic. I'm sure it will end up online someplace, though."

"I'm not sure I would say nobody knew he was bad," said Sarah. "I heard he had a pretty unsavory rep in Vegas. They are saying that he was so well-connected in town that everyone just ignored the signs. There's talk that the DOJ is going to begin a corruption investigation of the Vegas city government."

"Probably because the local government is Democratic," said Casey, with no small amount of cynicism.

"Yeah," said Devon. "You guys were just in Vegas for that Buy More thing. Did you hear anything about this while it was going down? I mean it must have been a huge deal there. Shoot out in the desert. A Taiwanese politician counterfeiter using real currency paper. Two Secret Service agents killed. It sounds like it's right out of a movie."

"No," said Chuck. "It all happened the night before we left. By the time it would have been news, we were already on the road."

"Oh, yeah, the road. Sorry about your car, John," said Ellie. "Will the insurance pay to replace it? The accident wasn't your fault."

"Yeah. Full replacement value. I'm going car shopping next week," he said. "Another Crown Vic, of course."

"Well, thank God your injuries weren't too bad," said Ellie. "Just bumps and bruises." She looked at the fading bruises on his face.

"Yeah, well, I bounce pretty well," he said, taking another sip of a particularly delicious Grgich Chardonnay.

"I'll have to get you all out white water rafting, then," said Awesome, laughing. "That's got a lot of bouncing."

"But back to Kirk for a second," said Ellie. "Do we really think they'll extradite him to Taiwan for the murder of that poor woman? Won't we want to keep him here?"

Casey said, "My guess is they'll try him here for the counterfeiting and the murder of the agents and, once he's convicted, only then hand him over to the Taiwanese for trial."

"I thought the murder of the agents was Chen's people," said Devon.

"One conspiracy. They are all tagged with all the crimes of all the conspirators. Even the paper guy from Massachusetts," said Casey.

"Either way," said Chuck. "Either here or in Taiwan, that asshole Kirk is going to end up in a small gray cell for the rest of his life." He spoke with uncharacteristic venom.

"Damn right," said Casey.

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A/N2: So that's that. Next up is a non-canon arc set in Hungary. This will be my first time trying a totally non-canon story, so I hope you guys like it. Remember, I can't respond to reviews or PM's yet, so please be patient with me.


	65. Chapter 65

A/N: This is my first attempt at a totally non-canon story. I trust you guys to let me know how I do with this borrowed (not owned) intellectual property.

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It was New Year's Day 2008 and Chuck, Casey and Morgan sat on the floor of Chuck and Sarah's new apartment with a cooler of cold beer and the bits and pieces of unassembled IKEA furniture, specifically, a couch, a love seat, a coffee table, and an end table. They had opened all the boxes in the living room and settled down to an afternoon of assembly. Chuck and Sarah's new lease had started that day and they didn't intend to waste even a single day out of their new apartment. They had moved Sarah's stuff from her hotel that morning and Chuck's stuff and furniture immediately afterwards. Now, it was time for the new living room to be put together.

"It's not hard, moron," said Casey. "The directions are unnecessary."

"Hate to agree with Casey on this one, little buddy, but those directions are really confusing. You're better off without them."

"I believe you guys, but I have to do it my way. You guys do things your way, if you want," said Morgan.

Ellie and Devon were at work and Sarah was out shopping for household staples, like paper towels and cleaning supplies.

Sipping his beer, Chuck was screwing part of the frame for the loveseat together. "Is this piece mine or yours, Case?"

"That one's yours. Mine are over here." Casey gestured to a pile of couch pieces to his left. "You know when I was in the military, I would have to assemble weapons systems in the dark while bullets were flying over my head and explosions going off nearby...and that was just training."

"That doesn't sound safe to me" said Morgan.

Casey just grunted.

Morgan finished the end table. He moved it around and leaned on it. It seemed solid to him.

"Ok. I'm going to start on the coffee table next." He took a fresh beer from the cooler and moved to the side of the room with the disassembled table.

"So, Morg, you give any thought to what you want to do if you ever leave the womb of the Buy More?" asked Chuck.

"Well, everyone says you should do something for work that you enjoy doing. I don't think anyone will pay me to play video games though."

"There is a professional gaming circuit. It's a pretty recent development and I don't know if it will ever catch on, but they did some kind of tournament last year," said Chuck.

"I don't know that I'm actually good enou..."

"Cooking," said Casey.

"What?" asked Morgan.

"Cooking. You enjoy it and, I hate to admit it, but you are a pretty good cook. Your food is good. Tasty," said Casey.

"Really? You think I'm a good cook?" asked Morgan, pulling at his beard.

"Yeah, but don't let it go to your head. You're still a moron."

Morgan looked at Casey for a few extra moments and said, "Thanks, Casey. That's the nicest thing you ever said to me...well, not the 'moron' part, of course. I have always wanted to work at a Benihana."

"Ahhh," said Casey with a sound of derision, flipping a hand in dismissal. "That's theater. Not real cooking. I meant a real restaurant."

Morgan stopped to look at Casey for a while, obviously quite surprised. "You think I could work in a real restaurant?"

"Not if you keep your head up your ass, like it's been. But you have the cooking part down. It's the working part that you need to focus on," said Casey. "Just because you can cook, it doesn't make you a chef. That takes hard work and discipline. Training, practice, energy, commitment, attention to detail, imagination, consistency. Sorta like most things that mean anything. Hey, pass me another beer."

Chuck said, "I think I've got it. I think this one's done."

Morgan said, "Great. But what's that piece for? That one over there."

"No. That's part of the couch Casey's building."

"No, it's not. I have all the pieces here. The hobbit is right. That's yours," said Casey.

"Oh, crap," said Chuck.

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It was a few hours later. The furniture had been built. The TV and sound system had been hooked up and Chuck had gone into the home office/guestroom to check his messages, leaving Casey and Morgan in the living room drinking beer and watching football. The guest room was not exactly furnished to any standard of luxury. His computer stuff was set up on a folding card table and the bed for guests would be an air mattress.

He went on his computer and checked his normal email accounts. Nothing interesting. Then he went onto Granger's Video Game Message Board and looked in the section for Call of Duty discussions for a weapons thread. There were three of them. No messages from Sam Wilson on any of the three threads. Ok. So, Bryce was silent for the time being.

Then he went into the draft email he used to communicate with Yuri. A few days ago Yuri had quoted a price of US$100,000 for 50ml of SP-117 with up to 5 liters of the drug available. Graham had come back with an order of 250 ml, for a purchase price of US$500,000. Chuck was waiting for Yuri to make the arrangements for the sale.

Yuri had left a message.

 **Hello, my friend. That amount of the drug available with no problem. Meet me in Budapest on Monday the 7** **th** **for delivery**. **2300 hours local time at A Pince, a ruin bar on the Pest side of the Danube. Please make arrangements to wire the money while with me. I'll have the product there. Looking forward to seeing all three of you. Let us make Casey buy the drinks again.**

Chuck responded.

 **Sounds good. Let me double check with Sarah and Casey to confirm, but if you don't hear from me shortly, we will meet you there and then. And since we're paying you, I think your boss should buy the drinks for a good customer. Take it easy and be safe, my friend.**

Just as he pressed save, Sarah came into the room. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and nuzzled his neck. He turned his head and kissed her.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Well, I bought a lot of the bulk goods we needed. Paper towels, toilet paper, laundry detergent, napkins, you know. Stuff like that. Looks like you guys had success. The furniture looks good. We have a living room."

"Yeah. I had a bit of a hiccup with the love seat, but that only took me an extra hour to figure out," he said with a small grin.

"I'm so excited about our place. Our place. Together. Us." She smiled a happy smile.

"Well, me too." He got serious for a few moments. "Just a few months ago, well...life sucked. I mean still sucked. Had been sucking for years. And then you came into my life and everything changed. I'm excited about our new home, but really, it's you. You. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Ever. Without question."

She looked at him with all the love in her heart and said, "I feel exactly the same way." She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. The kiss was beginning to get a little heated when she broke away. "Nope, nope, nope. We have guests and more coming. If we keep going, we'll...get distracted." She gave an impudent grin. "What's up here?" she moved her chin at the screen.

"Yuri. He wants us to pick up the sample on Monday in Budapest." He showed her the message from Yuri.

"Budapest?"

"Yeah. What's wrong? When I said 'Budapest' you looked like you got heartburn."

"I had a mission in Budapest...It's nothing. Budapest is fine."

Chuck swung his seat away from the card table and twisted it around. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her down to sit on his lap. "It doesn't sound fine. I know you can't tell me about the mission, but if you have bad memories about Budapest we can meet him somewhere else. Prague. Or Vienna or something."

She kissed him on the tip of the nose. "Naw. It's ok. Budapest is fine. It's not like I can never go back there or anything."

"Is it more dangerous for you to be in Budapest than one of the other cities? If it is, we really..."

"No. It's ok. You're thinking along the right lines, but it's ok. I'm certainly not going to run into any of the people I met on the prior mission. That's for damn sure."

"Ok. So, now we have the next hurdle to face."

"What's that?"

"I've never left the United States. I don't have a passport."

"No problem. You'll be traveling on a CIA passport, Mr. Carmichael."

"Ok. One less thing to worry about. I'll talk to Big Mike and get the vacation days tomorrow, for me and Casey both."

"Oh,...Casey," she yelled.

He came into the room carrying his beer. "We're going to Budapest to do the deal with Yuri. On Monday. We can fly Sunday. The meet is in a ruin bar on the Pest side on Monday night," she said.

"Ok. Sounds good."

"Guys, what's a ruin bar?" asked Chuck.

"When the Iron Curtain fell and Hungary came into the rest of the world a lot of Budapest was in disrepair. A lot of Eastern Europe was. Nightclub bars would spring up in ruins, like abandoned buildings … places like that. They were cheap, fun places. Mismatched furniture. Like a pop-up. Still ruined décor. They are really popular there now. All young people. Very hip," said Sarah.

"I can play the adult at a place like that. I'll be old enough to be the dad of the other customers," said Casey.

"Oh, not so old, Case," said Sarah.

"Young at heart," said Chuck.

"I'll call the Director, set up the wire, and have the travel office arrange for to get us there, and get you a passport. Oh, and," said Sarah as she waggled a finger at the computer, "download an application for a real passport, please. What if we want to go on vacation or something? You're gonna need it."

"Yes, ma'am. How do we arrange for the money to be wired?"

"It will be a CIA account someplace and they will be ready to wire it. So, all we'll have to do is send a text or email or something. They can initiate immediately when they hear from us," said Sarah.

"Late at night, though. I'm guessing they won't be using a bank in Eastern Europe or Moscow. Too late for a bank to be open. So, probably from a US bank to another bank in this hemisphere," said Chuck.

"Yeah, but why stop there?" said Casey. "The receiving bank could be in Asia. It'd just be tomorrow when the money arrives. So long as Yuri can confirm receipt, we'll be good. In the meantime, you'll get to drink Hungarian beer and watch European girls dance."

Chuck said, "I wouldn't look at European girls." Sarah raised a good-natured eyebrow with a bit of a skeptical expression. "What? I wouldn't. I have the most beautiful girl in the world." She pursed her lips at him. "Casey help me here."

"You're on your own, kid. You're the one looking at the European girls."

"No," Chuck yelled as Casey left the room, chuckling and sipping his beer.

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They had a full house for their first dinner in their new apartment, but they had wanted to host everyone to thank them for helping Sarah move from her place and Chuck move from the neighboring apartment. Not to mention assembling the furniture and TV and stuff. Dinner was Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, Devon, Morgan, Lou, and Casey. Morgan and Lou made a big salad. Chuck and Sarah made a big bowl of pasta primavera, and Casey, of course, made dessert – in this case a red velvet cake and home-made whipped cream. The wine was a couple of bottles of Schramsburg Brut Rose, a delicious sparkling wine that was left over from the prior night's celebration.

They were eating at a large folding table with an assortment of mismatched chairs, some folding. An actual dining room table was on the list of things they needed.

Once the meal was in full swing. Chuck said, "Sarah and I are going to take a vacation together."

"Awesome," said Devon. "Where are you two love birds going?"

"We thought we'd go to Eastern Europe. Maybe Prague, maybe Vienna. You know, now that the holidays are over it will be pretty affordable,"

"Oh, you'll love it there," said Lou. "That's such a fun part of the world now that the political situation is better. I've only been there in the summer, but I'll bet you have a good time anyway."

"Thanks, Lou. Any stuff for the deli you want us to smuggle back here for you?"

Lou put her hand to her forehead, laughing, and said, "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"We're not with Customs, so I wouldn't worry," said Chuck.

Ellie looked at them seriously for a few moments, then broke into a big smile and said, "That sounds like a great trip. Please be safe, guys."

"Oh, yeah, no worries, big sister. I have Sarah to take care of me."

"And I will," said Sarah.

"When are you leaving?" asked Morgan.

"Thought we'd leave over the weekend and take a few days next week. Little last minute, but spontaneity is fun." said Sarah. "But Ellie, can you do me one favor?"

"Sure, Sarah. Anything."

Sarah gestured at the bowl on the kitchen counter. "Can you take care of my goldfish, Bubbles?"

Ellie grinned, "Sure. I'd love to."

Dinner was over and, while Ellie and Devon went into the kitchen to do the dishes, Morgan and Lou sat on the floor with their backs to the coffee table Morgan had assembled that afternoon, and Chuck and Sarah sat on the couch to watch the end of the Sugar Bowl, pitting Georgia against Hawaii. After a few moments, Casey came over and Chuck and Sarah scooted to the side to make room for him on one end of the couch. He sat down next to Sarah. That's when the entire side of the couch fell off, pitching Casey to the floor with Sarah and Chuck tumbling on top of him.

"Godammit," yelled Casey.

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A/N2: I was in Budapest just after the fall of the Iron Curtain and ruin bars were not yet a thing. But a few years later, I'm told, they were very popular.

A/N3: Please remember that I cannot respond to reviews or PM's right now. Don't take it personally.


	66. Chapter 66

A/N: Anybody wonder if we could crowdfund enough to buy ownership of Chuck? I'm not even too sure what "crowdfunding" means, though.

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Charles Carmichael was a successful software entrepreneur and business owner. As such, he and his girlfriend were able to travel first class on the Delta flight from Los Angeles to Budapest, with a single stopover in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, his bodyguard had to fly coach for the almost fifteen hour flight. But for Carmichael and his girlfriend, at least, it was a very pleasant flight. They were able to stretch out and nap for a good portion of the time. In the quiet, dark cabin, no one even noticed that they spent some time together in the tiny restroom of the aircraft and returned to their seats giggling quietly.

The main Budapest airport is known as Ferihegy, after the neighborhood in which it is located to the east of the city proper. Once they had made their way through all of the immigration and customs checkpoints, they exited to the main area where arrivals were greeted. There was a young man in a suit holding a "Carmichael" sign.

Chuck approached him and said, "I'm Carmichael."

"Welcome to Budapest, Mr. Carmichael. My name is Tim Brown. Do you and your party have all your baggage?" Chuck nodded in the affirmative. "Very well, please come with me."

He led them out of the terminal to the premium parking lot adjacent to the building. The temperature was hovering around freezing, and they pulled their jackets closed. There was a maroon minivan waiting for them. Their driver opened the back door and, before putting their bags inside, removed a briefcase and handed it to Chuck. He didn't explain what it was. Chuck raised an eyebrow at his partners. Casey said, "Our weapons, kid. No need to smuggle guns into the country when we are being met by our own guys."

"Ah," said Chuck, nodding his understanding. He looked at the young man differently as he handed the briefcase to Casey.

Once they were in the car and driving to the city, the driver said, "Mr. Evans was going to meet you himself, but ...well, he's missing. He's dropped off the radar. All of the senior agents are following up leads looking for him. There are only seven of us here, with Mr. Evans, Harry Evans, as Chief of Station. It used to be a bigger station during the Cold War, but now that peace has broken out here...well, it's smaller. The other five are trying to find him, that left me to pick you up."

"What do you mean, missing?" asked Sarah.

"Just that, Agent Walker. He was to meet an informant yesterday morning and never made it to the meet. We've lost all contact with him since then."

"Maybe the informant took him somehow? Double crossed him?" asked Casey.

"Maybe. But the video cameras show the man where he was supposed to be...alone. He waited the agreed time and then left. Nothing suspicious. And nothing since then."

"Could he have disappeared voluntarily? Gone rogue or something?" asked Casey.

"Well, I guess, maybe. The last COS here did exactly that. Ryker. Up and disappeared. We still don't talk about him, but there's a burn notice out on the guy. I never met him. He was gone before I arrived. Be a helluva thing for Mr. Evans to do the same thing. But we don't think he did. He left his dog alone in his apartment. The guys who knew him well don't think he'd do that. He loved that dog and would have done something to take care of it, even if he couldn't take the dog with him. So, our guys are working on the assumption that someone took him. Maybe related to something he was working on."

"You need some more hands?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, thanks, but I'll let someone else make that call, Agent Walker. And I know you have your own assignment here. Anyway, that's just a long way of explaining that I'm here to meet you. I know Mr. Evans intended to meet you himself."

"Thanks, Brown," said Casey. "Where you taking us?"

"The Corinthia. It's one of the nicest hotels in town. We've gotten your team a two bedroom suite. I hope that's ok. Your cover is techie stuff. Right?"

"Perfect," said Chuck, looking out the window. They were on a road identified as 4, but Chuck didn't know if it was route 4, or highway 4, or some other 4. It was his first time outside of his own country. The landscape had snow, but wasn't blanketed. The snow was mostly on lawns and rooftops but the roads were clear and dry. What snow there was on the roads was confined to the edges and was black with dirt. The sun was beginning to set and they were driving westward into the sun's rays. If there was one thing that made it clear to Chuck that they were overseas it was the European style road signs and the street signs in Hungarian.

He wanted to handle this with aplomb and sophistication, but in truth he was pretty excited. If Brown hadn't been in the car, he'd have been enthusiastically voicing his excitement, but Agent Charles Carmichael was way too cool for that. Chuck Bartowski, though...

Like airports around the world, Ferihegy was some distance from the City itself and the journey took a while. The road was mostly secondary with the occasional stoplight, but it was early on a Sunday evening and traffic was light. Eventually, the buildings became more numerous and closer together as they arrived into Budapest proper. Chuck was struck by the age of many of the buildings. Big, solid, gray stone buildings that looked like they had been built in the 19th century. Intermingled with them, more prevalent farther from the city proper, were huge gray concrete buildings of more recent vintage, the ugly reminders of the Communist years. As the differences from home accumulated, he became even more excited.

They turned right onto a street called Jozsef krt and continued north. Although this might not have been the city center, it was certainly an active busy street with a tramway running down the center. After a while, the street name changed to Erzsebet krt and they continued. Soon they arrived at the Corinthia Grand Hotel Royal. Brown let them off in front and a bellman came to take their bags. Casey held on to the briefcase. Brown gave them his contact information, the keys to the minivan, and wished them luck. A hotel parking valet took the car.

The hotel had opened before the turn of the last century and was the epitome of classical European elegance. It was a large six story tall building. The ornate exterior was spotlit that evening and looked warm and inviting. After checking in, they crossed the white marble to the elevators as the bellman took them up to their suite. Most recently, they had been in a similar suite in Las Vegas, but whereas the Vegas suite was modern and flashy, this suite was comfortable and dignified. Chuck liked it much more than the Magic. He tipped the bellman with forints which had been provided by the CIA with their document package.

Once they were alone in the suite, and before they said anything, Chuck took a device out of his bag and walked around the rooms with it. "We're good," he said, assuring them there were no wireless listening devices in the suite.

"Ok. So, we meet Yuri tomorrow night. We can crash tonight and explore the city tomorrow. Get the lay of the land before the meet," said Sarah. "Casey and I have been here before, but you haven't, Chuck. So, we'll get you a feel for it."

"Sounds like a plan," said Chuck.

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After a delicious breakfast of chocolate pastries and coffee, and dressed in their ski jackets, jeans, and comfortable shoes, they left the hotel to explore the city. Sarah and Casey carried the weapons Brown had provided to them. Chuck carried a trank pistol, also courtesy of Brown. The first destination was the A Pince ruin bar, to scout where the meet would be that night, determine routes to and from, establish a rendezvous spot to meet if they became separated and other basic operational tradecraft. As luck would have it, the bar was walking distance from the hotel, so they decided to leave the CIA's minivan parked. 'A Pince' translates from Hungarian as The Cellar and, true to its name, it was partially below ground in the cellar of a half empty residential building. Casey grumbled about setting up a meet in a cellar, but his concerns were assuaged when he counted the number of exits.

Once that had been taken care of, they began to walk the city to familiarize Chuck with it. The city is really two ancient towns separated east/west by the Danube, called the Duna in Hungarian. The Danube enters the city from the north and bisects Buda, the hilly area to the west, from Pest, the flatter area to the east. At one point in its history, the city was informally known as Pestbuda, but the name didn't stick. Two islands (well, with a bit of a third) are centered in the Danube at this point of the river, Obuda Island and Margaret Island. Margaret Island is a popular park, similar to New York's Central Park. It was only in the late 19th century that the areas were merged into a single metropolis.

Given the geography of Budapest, bridges are prominent features and are established landmarks. They walked back and forth across the Danube. Heading west on the Chain Bridge and east on the Margaret Bridge. They had lunch from a street vendor selling sausage and blood pudding in the cold afternoon sunshine. Dinner was a much warmer meal. Casey knew a small family restaurant on the Buda side of the river. Chuck had a stew made with wild boar and winter vegetables. They shared a couple of bottles of a deep red wine from the Egri region. Before they knew it, it was time to head to the meeting with Yuri. All day, they had been watchful to make sure they were not under observation.

By the time they arrived at the bar, at about 22:30, there was actually a line outside the entrance. Chuck walked up to stand at the back of the line. Sarah cocked an eyebrow at him and walked up to the bouncer at the front of the line. The man was the size of a mountain in the Carpathians. A big mountain.

She looked him in the eye and said, "Yuri Gobrienko." The mountain physically blanched and pulled back the velvet rope as if it was the most important thing he'd ever done in his life.

Sarah, Chuck and Casey entered the bar. It was dark and smokey and crowded. Hip young people were crowded on the dance floor. Chuck made a point of not looking at the dancing European girls. After a quick look around to make sure that Yuri wasn't already in the bar, they found a table. Casey went up to the bar and brought back three Kobanyai Vilagos beers, a pilsner style lager from a local brewery. Chuck thought the beer was delicious and complimented Casey, who merely grunted. They began to watch the action in the bar/club.

As Sarah had described, the bar was aptly named a ruin bar. As befitting a cellar, the ceilings were low. The walls had crumbling brick and the overhead lighting was makeshift, but the bar itself was fully stocked and the sound system was state of the art. The music was not nearly as loud as at most dance clubs, like Club Ares in Los Angeles, though. Chuck supposed that the residential tenants living upstairs from the A Pince would have raised a real fuss if they had to live with blaring music in the evenings.

The one thing that surprised Chuck more than anything else about the crowd was the prevalence of smoking. It seemed that every other person had a cigarette. In LA it was unusual to see someone smoking, but not here. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and it stung his eyes a little bit.

He found it a little disconcerting to be somewhere where he didn't speak the language. He couldn't tell what people around him were saying and couldn't read any of the written signs. He made a mental note to himself to try to learn at least a little bit of the language of the place where he was going. Maybe just enough to say 'please,' 'thank you,' and 'men's room.'

The crowd looked happy and relaxed. Casey had been right about their ages. Most looked to be in their late teens and early twenties. There were a number of people dancing to the music, most of which he recognized as American pop songs. Sarah and Casey had worked with him on establishing a baseline for situational awareness. If you can't tell what's normal in a situation, you can't spot abnormalities that might be meaningful or dangerous. His first time overseas, this was a great opportunity to practice establishing a baseline in an unfamiliar environment.

There was an abnormality making its way across the bar towards them. Yuri Gobrienko parted the crowd easily. At over two meters tall, he had to hunch slightly to avoid hitting his head. He was dressed casually in dark colors and had a fearsome scowl on his face. In his left hand, he carried a steel briefcase. People made way for him and gave him second glances. His resting state was intimidating.

When he spotted their table, he broke out into a huge grin that transformed his face from terrifying to merely scary.

"CHUCK. CASEY. MOI BRAT'YA" [My brothers – in Russian.] He engulfed each man in a bonecrushing hug one at a time. When done, he turned to Sarah and shook her hand politely. To her he said, "Tak rada snova tebya videt'. Ty vyglyadish' prekrasno, kak vsegda." [So happy to see you again. You look lovely, as always.]

The four of them sat down at the table and got to work.

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A/N2: I'm an American and my default systems of time and measurement are based in the American systems. Would you guys be really annoyed at me if I broadened our views by using the European time system and the metric system when we are describing events elsewhere? Clive Cussler did exactly that in his Dirk Pitt stories. I do feel that we Americans (other than the men and women of our military) are sort of behind the rest of the world on this stuff and it wouldn't kill us to become a little more familiar with these systems. Let me know. If you guys don't like it, I'll abandon the experiment.

A/N3: Please remember that I cannot respond to reviews or PM's right now. Don't take it personally. This is the last of the chapters I had written before my surgery. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to drop one next week, as I still can't type. Sorry, guys. I will do my best to make the enforced hiatus as short as possible, though. Hope you guys stick with me. Thanks for all the good wishes.


	67. Chapter 67

A/N: I'M BAAAAAACCCCKKKK. Hope you're still here. Still tough for me to type, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep to my self-imposed weekly Saturday morning schedule, but I got this one out at least. Thanks for all of your good wishes.

A/N2: Still don't own Chuck? Bored of that particular discussion topic yet?

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For those who may have forgotten in my absence, Chuck, Sarah and Casey are meeting with Yuri Gobrienko, Alexei Volkoff's "man" but Chuck's asset, to purchase a sample of the SP-117 truth serum (first introduced in connection with Payne's murderous attempt to obtain the Sanctuary Report). The meet is in a ruin bar in Budapest, late on a Monday night early in January 2008.

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Yuri sat down at the table with them and put his steel briefcase on the floor at his feet. A bottle of vodka appeared with four glasses. Chuck didn't even realize this place had table service. He said to Yuri, a happy smile on his face, "It's good to see you, my friend."

"Good to see you too," said Yuri. "Good to see all of you." With his foot, he slid the briefcase on the floor closer to Chuck and said, "This is for you."

"Thank you. Do you have the routing and account numbers for the wire transfer? The sooner we initiate, the sooner your boss gets his money," said Chuck.

"You don't want to check the delivery?" asked Yuri.

"From you? Nope. No need," said Chuck.

Yuri smiled a little and said, in his deep Russian accented growl, "You sure you're a spy?"

Chuck grinned at him happily and said, "Nope"

Yuri looked to Casey and Sarah. Casey shrugged and grunted. Sarah smiled and said, "Don't look at us. He's in charge. You wanted him as your handler after all."

"Yes, I did. Didn't I?" With a look of happy pride, Yuri squeezed Chuck's forearm on the table with one of his enormous hands and said, "Sometimes I get it right." He took a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Chuck. While Chuck took the banking information and entered it on his phone, Yuri said to Sarah and Casey, "I keep an ear to the grapevine. I hear about a new American team operating out of the West Coast of the States. Incredibly successful team. Broke the White Dragons. Recovered the Sanctuary Report. Just busted a billionaire sadist and his Taiwanese counterfeiting operation." As he had been talking, he'd been pouring vodka into the glasses. Chuck finished his typing and looked up. Yuri slid a glass of vodka towards each of them and said, raising his glass, "Any one of those victories might be the highlight of another team's career... Malena never stood a chance." Yuri paused for dramatic effect. "I'm proud to be associated with you."

"Thank you, Yuri. You're a good man," said Chuck.

"Even if you have a reputation for eating people," said Sarah, with a laugh.

"Naw," said Casey. "It's _because_ he has that reputation." They all laughed, clicked their glasses and drank down the clear smooth liquor in single swallows.

Yuri began to refill their glasses. Chuck said, "How are you? How's your mom doing?"

"I'm good, Chuck. Mom is good. Thanks for asking. She's aging, but the medicine you got for her is helping with her blood pressure. So far so good. Is your mom still around, Chuck?"

Chuck stopped smiling for a moment and said, "No. My mom left my family when I was little. I haven't seen her in twenty years. No idea where she is or even if she's still alive."

"Ah, that is terrible, my friend. I'm sorry for you."

With a shrug, Chuck said, "Thanks, Yuri. It's not something I think about too often."

Sarah thought she might have a conversation with Chuck about sharing personal information with people in the spy world. It would probably be fruitless, though, as Chuck would just take the position that Yuri was a friend, but it was worth having anyway she decided.

Yuri took another drink of his vodka and nodded. "That's wise...understandable, I suppose." From an inside pocket of his jacket, he took a cigarette case made of gray gunmetal and a gold Zippo cigarette lighter and proceeded to light a cigarette. His smoke was particularly acrid.

Sarah said, "How are things with Volkoff? How did he take it when we picked up La Cuidad?"

"What do you know about Volkoff?" asked Yuri, exhaling a plume of smoke.

His companions shrugged. Sarah said, "We haven't gotten the mission to look into him, so … very little, I guess. Can't tell you what the Agency knows though."

Yuri took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke towards the ceiling. "Well, you know he's an arms dealer. Much of that work is legal. Factories, distribution networks. Companies all over the world. Battalions of lawyers and accountants. Scientists doing R&D. Countries might frown upon it, but there's little they can do about that part of his business. But we all know that he is making his fortune outside his legal businesses. It is his illegal operations that are the difference. He's single minded in his pursuit of wealth and power. Nothing gets in his way and he is brilliant enough and paranoid enough to have risen to the top of a very vicious pack of contenders. Personally? Volkoff is unpredictable. One moment he's talking about ice cream and the next moment he's shooting someone in the head. What do they call that thing? In Russian we call it bipolyarnoye rasstroystvo."

Sarah said, "Bipolar disorder."

"Yes, that's it. Bipolar. Like two people in the same body. Between him and Frost they are some pretty terrifying people to work for."

"Who's Frost?" asked Casey.

"Volkoff's strong right hand. A woman. American. Probably from one of your intelligence agencies originally. I don't know how he got her, but she's been with him for decades. Before I ever joined his outfit."

"American? That sounds odd. Why would he use an American? Why would he trust an American? And decades ago would have been the height of the Cold War. A particularly odd time to pick an American right hand," said Sarah.

"Volkoff doesn't care. He'll use anything and everything to get what he wants. He's completely void of any ideology. He was a party member before the Soviet Union collapsed, midlevel bureaucrat in the Ministry of Defense Industry, but never really believed in Communism. Doesn't believe in anything really."

"So why an American?" asked Casey.

"He uses Frost because she is a deadly, scary enforcer. I once saw her shoot a man in both knees and both elbows, apply tourniquets, and only then begin the interrogation. She was just setting the mood. I'm sure Frost is the name she picked to express her inner nature. She is absolutely stone cold. A single look into her eyes and you know there is no soul...nothing there. Horrifying. I don't get scared, but she scares me. Any threat to Volkoff, she eliminates without mercy. She is single-minded in her loyalty."

"Sounds like you think she's a bit of a psycho," said Casey.

Yuri took a drag at his cigarette and nodded, "Yes. A bit. But brilliant, cold and ruthless. No one to underestimate. Not at all."

Yuri continued, "As to Malena, Volkoff couldn't have cared less what happened to her. He assigned me to help her. It was his way of testing her to see if he wanted to bring her into Volkoff Industries. To roll in La Ciudad's operations into his own. He wanted my judgement as to whether she'd be a good fit. The fact that you caught her, and the stolen Stingers, was conclusive evidence in his eyes that she would not have been a good fit. He was just pleased that I didn't get caught up in that net." Yuri gestured with his cigarette to emphasize the point.

"Personally? Will he miss her or feel bad for her? Not even a little. He couldn't give a shit about her. He's got no friends. Well, maybe Frost. He's not one of those social guys who want to be recognized or loved by their peers. Get together every once in a while to pat each other on the back and congratulate themselves on outwitting the authorities for another year. Big group therapy sessions fueled by good vodka and expensive champagne and cheap women. He couldn't care less about that stuff.

"Hell, a bunch of his competitors are congregating for a wedding. Victor Federov is getting married next week in Switzerland. There'll be a couple of dozen Russian luminaries there. Oligarchs, arms dealers, money launderers and their hired women. That's exactly the kind of thing that Volkoff would avoid. He declined the invitation and gave Federov a tank as a wedding gift." Yuri was laughing at the absurdity of the gesture, blowing smoke at the low ceiling. Yuri Gobrienko belly laughing in a Budapest ruin bar was a sight to see. "A goddamn tank. I'll bet your agencies will have teams there to watch them. Just to see if anyone stumbles."

"Well, I guess we will if we've heard about it. I'll tell the bosses and make sure they have some people there to watch it go down," said Sarah.

Yuri's phone beeped on the table. From an inside pocket of his jacket, he took out a small case and removed a folding pair of reading glasses, which he donned. The tiny glasses in his enormous hands looked like a toy. Then he turned the phone over and looked at the message. "Wire received. Nice doing business with trustworthy people," he said with a pleasant smile and a soft chuckle, putting away his glasses.

"Yuri, I'm CIA. I'm the least trustworthy person here," said Sarah, with a grin.

"I know," said Yuri, sipping his vodka. "I meant him," he said, gesturing at Chuck with the remains of his cigarette.

As he said that, Yuri glanced over her shoulder and grunted in surprise. His face hardened and his mood suddenly darkened.

Without turning, Casey said, "What is it, Yuri?" He and Sarah had both moved their hands towards their weapons.

"A very bad man. A man I'm going to kill," said Yuri, with a harsh growl.

"Can I turn and look?" asked Sarah. Yuri nodded and Sarah turned to scan the room behind her, being careful to not look at anyone in particular.

Yuri said, "Three tables back. Slicked back, black hair. Black goatee. White shirt."

Sarah made a 'hmmmm' sound and turned back to them. "Who is he?"

"His name is Dren Selenica. The Butcher of Prizren. One of the criminals from the March Pogrom. A Kosovar Albanian. He's a wanted war criminal. The Hague would love to get him on trial and they have a warrant out for him. But I'm going to cheat the hangman, as you Americans say."

"What did he do?" asked Chuck.

"He burned down a Seminary with elderly Serbs inside. Four years ago. Part of the ethnic cleansing of Kosovo by the Albanians. They were trying to run out the Serbs who had been there for generations. Of course, the Serbs called for help from the KFOR forces, and the Germans, constituting the local force, refused to intervene to help the Serbs. So much for the impartial administration of safety. If you're a Serb, it seems you can't rely on the West." He seemed to run out of steam with the explanation, but never took his eyes off Selenica.

"What's KFOR?" asked Chuck. [pronounced "Kay-4"]

"It's the Kosovo Force, kid," said Casey. "NATO led international force to keep the peace and prevent exactly the sort of shit that Yuri is describing."

"Did they really do what Yuri thinks they did?" asked Chuck, somewhat astonished.

Casey sort of shrugged and nodded at the same time, indicating that it was at least a possibility that Yuri's description was entirely accurate.

"How sure are you about the ID, Yuri?" Chuck asked.

"One hundred percent." He continued, "Dead man had been an old colleague of my mother's. I made a point of remembering this bastard's face. There were over fifty Serb homes destroyed. I forget how many churches. It was a pogrom. We call it the March Pogrom."

"Ok. Then we are going to collect him and turn him in to the authorities. If he's a wanted man they will turn him over to the Hague," said Chuck.

"No, Chuck," said Yuri with a slight smile. "I'm going to kill him." He pulled at his cigarette and looked at Chuck with confidence. He was just explaining to Chuck how things were going to work.

Chuck looked into Yuri's eyes very seriously, but also with a pleasant friendly expression, and said, calmly and slowly, "No. You're not. You're one of the good guys now. We aren't going to kill him. We are going to bop him over the head and give him to the cops. That's what the good guys do, Yuri."

Yuri sat up straighter in his seat, his size normally intimidating, and looked down at Chuck with a scowl. He drew a breath to speak, but didn't. Something he saw in Chuck's eyes had stopped him.

Casey and Sarah were watching with a great deal of surprise and maybe a little concern. Chuck Bartowski, the Nerd Herd supervisor, was staring down Yuri Gobrienko, Alexei Volkoff's killer. Chuck was telling the other man how this was going to be played. He was asserting his control as Yuri's handler, gently and easily, but very firmly. Neither man looked away for what seemed to be almost a minute. Chuck's brown eyes were clear and calm and steady. Yuri was trying to look ferocious, but it seemed the effort was wasted on Chuck.

The moment stretched.

Then Yuri blinked.

"Ok, Chuck." With a laugh, Yuri poured a vodka into Chuck's glass and his own. "We'll do it your way. Bop him over the head and turn him in. He'll die in prison, I guess." Casey and Sarah exhaled and glanced at each other. Once again, Chuck had impressed them just by being Chuck. She would have a long talk about this with him later, but for the moment – wow. Even Casey was impressed, but internally he shrugged and said, to himself, 'I knew it all along,'

Sarah looked back at Selenica.

Chuck said, downing the vodka with Yuri, "Thanks, Yuri. I think that's going to work out..."

"Guys," said Sarah, "We've got a problem. I just recognized that guy he's with. He's an officer of the IH. Your friend Selenica is connected, Yuri."

"What's the IH?" Chuck asked.

"The Információs Hivatal. The Hungarian CIA," said Sarah.

"Ah, shit," said Casey. "How do you know?"

"I met the guy once a few years ago. At a meeting here. I don't remember his name, but he was involved in the Balkans. Watching over things there for the IH, feeding the intel to NATO. If he's having a meet with Selenica, I guess he still is."

"So much for turning him over to the cops," said Yuri. "He's an IH asset."

"Well, the Hungarian cops, at least. Hungary has a border with Serbia. Would the Serb authorities be happy to get him?" asked Chuck.

With a wolfish grin, Yuri said, "Very happy. But I don't know if he would survive long enough to make it to the Hague."

"He would if the international press is alerted that the Serbs have him. With the media spotlight on them, they wouldn't dare kill him outright," said Sarah.

With a shrug, Yuri conceded that the plan might work. "So, what do we do?" he asked.

Casey said, "We follow him, carefully so that the spy he's with doesn't notice, and take him when they separate."

"Ok," said Yuri with a nod.

"Do you have a car here?" Sarah asked Yuri.

"Yes, out front," he replied.

"Better pull it around. I'll go with you and stay on foot, in case they choose to walk," she said.

"Chuck and I will keep an eye on them from here. Let you know when they are leaving," said Casey. He looked at Yuri and said, "We have our own closed encrypted communications net." He pointed to his ear by way of explanation. "We'll follow them out."

"Right," said Sarah. She leaned over and gave Chuck a quick kiss.

"Be safe," Chuck said. He looked at Yuri and said, "Both of you."

Yuri, standing, said, "Thank you, Chuck. You and Casey too." He stubbed out his cigarette and followed Sarah out of the bar.

Chuck and Casey continued to sit in the bar, sipping their beers, but now ignoring the vodka. Casey left some forints on the table to pay for the vodka. How did he end up buying the drinks again, anyway? They were watching their target without seeming to.

After a while, Selenica and the IH man paid their bill and stood to leave. Casey said, "They are standing to leave."

Sarah said, "Right. I'm out front and Yuri has pulled his car around. It's a black Mercedes G-Class truck...SUV. It's to the left as you leave the front door. We're holding an open phone line, so he can hear me."

"Got it," said Casey. He nodded to Chuck. Chuck stood up and jerked his head behind him, with a cocked eyebrow. Should he exit by the back door for more coverage? Good question, thought Casey. Considering for a moment, he shook his head 'no' as their target moved to the front door. Chuck nodded his agreement.

Chuck picked up the briefcase at his feet containing $500,000 worth of SP-117 and followed Casey through the crowded bar.

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Sarah, her bright blonde hair stuffed up under a dark ski cap, was standing in a dark doorway across the street and watching the front door of the bar. She saw Selenica and his companion leave the bar and head to the parked cars. She gave a running commentary for the benefit of the rest of her team, which now included Yuri. The men stopped in front of a car to seem to say their farewells. But whose car was it? Moments later the IH man took the car and Selenica walked on to a second car. An Opel Astra 4-door sedan in silver (or gray, it was tough to tell at night).

As he got in the car, Sarah ran back to Yuri's SUV and jumped into one of the rear seats. Casey and Chuck were already in the car, Casey in front and Chuck next to her.

"So, what's the plan, guys?" asked Yuri.

"No need to get complicated," said Casey. "We ambush him when he gets out of his car. Tranquilize him. Throw him in the back and drive to the Serbian border. How long is the drive?"

"Couple of hours. Maybe less. We have a tranquilizer kit?" asked Yuri.

"Chuck carries a trank gun," said Sarah. "He doesn't want to hurt anybody, but he's put the gun to good use so far."

Yuri looked at Chuck a little startled. "That's why you won't let me kill him. You don't want to hurt anyone."

"Yeah. I mean, not if I can help it. I know you've killed...you all have...all three of you...but if we can avoid it...well, it's just that death is so final, you know? No going back. No appeal. No nothing. Can't talk about it. If we can avoid it..."

"Ok," Yuri said, pensively, pulling out behind Selenica's Opel.

"Don't crowd him, Yuri," said Casey. "We don't want him to make us."

"You think this is the first time I've tailed someone? You think I'm a novice at this, Casey?" said Yuri, offended. "You know tailing was inventing in Russia. We were the first..."

"Tailing wasn't invented in Russia," said Casey. "That's insane. There's probably someone tailing someone in the Bible, for God's sake."

"Guys," said Sarah. "Focus." Yuri huffed, Casey grunted, and Chuck chuckled. He reached out and took Sarah's hand.

For a single car to trail another car through urban traffic without being identified as such was not only difficult, but was almost impossible. Yuri managed it expertly, but in truth, they had a good bit of luck. Most often, he managed to keep a car or two between them and Selenica's Opel.

They headed south through Pest and, turning westward towards Buda, crossed the Rákóczi Bridge with its tall T-shaped light fixtures, the southernmost bridge across the Danube and one of the newer ones. The lights of the city sparkled on the cold black waters of the river to their right. At the late hour on a Monday night, traffic was light, but Yuri made the most of what there was.

Into the Buda hills, the houses began to grow in size, but right on the same blocks were obviously lower class houses for the less well-to-do. When Chuck mentioned that, Yuri explained that it was a holdover from Hungary's communist past. The government would reshuffle the population as it saw fit, with the goal of eliminating so-called "nice" neighborhoods and "not-nice" neighborhoods. It presented an interesting juxtaposition.

It's no surprise that tailing another car without being noticed gets increasingly difficult as traffic lightens. In another stroke of luck, Selenica's Opel pulled to the curb only a few blocks into a hilly, residential neighborhood. Just around the corner, Chuck and Casey bailed out of Yuri's car and began to walk back down the street towards Selenica. They were laughing and acting slightly drunk, although neither was attempting to speak Hungarian.

Selenica was working to get the key into the lock of the fence gate in front of one of the homes as they passed him. Neither man looked at him. But, soon after they passed, he felt a sting in his right butt cheek. He collapsed to the pavement.

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A/N3: Guess everybody saw what I did with the Federov wedding. I'm again taking advantage of this medium to take our friends out of LA. Not to get too grumpy about canon, but does anyone really think that a Russian oligarch/mobster/arms dealer (circa 2008) would get married in LA in January? Come on. Everybody knows that those guys were hanging around in Switzerland in those years. So, here was a little telegraphing about our next arc, I guess.

A/N4: Prizren. The March Pogrom. We will get a few different views of the events of the Balkan Wars in this story. My mom always taught me that there were three sides to every argument: your side, his side, and the truth. I will not present any inaccurate facts (so far as I know), but please do pay attention to who is reciting the facts. They are unlikely to be neutrally edited.

A/N5: 'I thought the Serbs were the bad guys in the Balkan Wars,' I hear you say. 'What's an Albanian Kosovar doing here?' Well, a quick check of the list of war criminals indicted by the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) established at the Hague, will, I think, show that there are multiple parties who committed terrible offences during that conflict. Although the Serbs may have gotten the bulk of the blame in the Western nations, they were nowhere close to being the only miscreants.

A/N6: I'm still not up to snuff with my typing and production. I'm shooting to get the next chapter out next Saturday, but that's not a foregone conclusion at this point. Please be patient. Thanks for all of your support and good wishes, they really do mean the world to me. Also, I've been reading up a storm but have been unable to review for a while. I'm going to try to rectify that too.


	68. Chapter 68

A/N: You...hey, you... Wake up...you own Chuck. Pay attention here.

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The whine of the tires on the highway filled the car and seemed to echo inside the large SUV. They were heading south out of Budapest on M5 towards the Serbian border. (Chuck idly wondered if it were called M5 or "the" M5). The highway was two lanes in either direction with no overhead lights and the headlights of Yuri's SUV and the few other cars on the road at this late hour cast the only illumination. Chuck felt comfortable in the safety of the quiet car. Selenica was still unconscious in the back of the car, wrapped in a tarp to keep him quiet should he unexpectedly awake. They intended to drive to Szeged, near the Serbian border, call some friends of Yuri's in the Security Intelligence Agency (the Serbian equivalent of the CIA) and have them collect Selenica on this side of the border. It was easier to let them deal with the problem of smuggling an unconscious man without a passport across an international border.

Sarah was napping, her head nestled against Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck himself was messing around with Selenica's locked cell phone. It was one of Apple's new smartphones and not so easy to crack. Using his multitool he had popped the back off and was using a flashlight in his teeth to study the circuitry. After a while he thought to himself, 'what if I try this?' He tried it and the cell phone came to life unlocked.

'Humm' he thought. He turned it over and looked at the screen with the usual icons. He hit the icon for emails and was rewarded with a listing of Selenica's emails. Unfortunately, they were in a language he didn't understand. The light from the phone woke Sarah.

"Oh, you got it open. My boyfriend is smart," she kissed his cheek.

"Yeah, but I can't read anything. Can you?" He showed her the face of the phone.

"It's Albanian. That's one of the languages I only have a passing knowledge of. Hey, Yuri, can you read Albanian? Chuck got Selenica's phone open."

"Yeah, I can," he said.

"Let's switch drivers, then. You can come back here and check out the phone. I'll drive," she said.

"I can drive if you want, Walker," said Casey.

"No need, Case. I'm on this side already," said Sarah.

"Ok," said Yuri, pulling to the side of the road. As they were switching, Yuri said to Chuck, in his deep growl, "I'm not putting my head on your shoulder, just so you know."

"Your loss," said Chuck with a shrug.

Yuri's laugh sounded a little like a heavy truck motor starting up. He sat next to Chuck and put on his reading glasses.

Sarah pulled the SUV back onto the road and they drove in silence for another ten minutes or so.

Yuri was getting agitated and finally grunted and said, "Ah, figovo. Figovo."

Casey said, "What's not good?"

Yuri replied, "He's planning a bomb plot. The bastard and some of his bastard friends are going to blow up something in Serbia next month. Not good."

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The United States Embassy is located on the Pest side of the river adjacent to a pleasant small park known as Szabadság tér, Liberty Square. In the wake of 9-11 security around the white, seven story building had been heightened and anti-vehicle bollards now ringed the approaches. Yuri's SUV stopped at the edge of the Square and Chuck and Sarah got out, Chuck carrying the briefcase. The car drove off.

As they walked through the small park to the Embassy gate, Chuck studied the building. He thought it looked very...European, somewhat ornate. It wasn't a style he'd readily find in the States.

They arrived at the gate and spoke to the US Marine private on guard duty, asking him to notify Mr. Tim Brown that they were there to meet him. Sarah had called Brown from the car, gotten him out of bed and arranged for him to meet them at the Embassy.

Brown came out a few moments later and walked them through security and around the attendant metal detectors. If he was put out in any way by Sarah's having roused him from bed and sending him to the office in the middle of the night, he hid it very well. He was enthusiastic and wide awake. He seemed to talk continuously, maybe as a result of nerves. The CIA section of the Embassy was smaller than it had been during the Cold War, as Brown had previously informed them. As he was leading them through the building, he explained that the square footage that had previously been dedicated to the spies was now housing economists and industrial experts.

Without too much delay, they arrived at the secure conference room from which they had arranged to contact Beckman and Graham. Brown stood near the back of the room as the video conference started.

"Good evening, Team. Please report," said Beckman.

"Chuck, he's your asset, why don't you take this," suggested Sarah.

"Ok," said Chuck. Two months ago, he might have been stammering and hesitant, but today briefing the Director of the CIA and the Director of the NSA was not the big deal it would once have been. "Good evening, Directors. We obtained the sample from the asset and the transaction is complete. I have the sample here." He held up the briefcase containing the SP-117 that Graham had requested. "We intend to have it transferred to Washington in the next diplomatic pouch." Graham nodded. "While at the site for the transfer, the asset identified a war criminal wanted by the Hague, a man named Dren Selenica, an Kosovar Albanian. It would have been simple to alert the authorities about his presence, but, unfortunately, Agent Walker recognized the man Selenica was meeting with as a member of the IH with responsibility for the Balkans."

"Hugghh. Makes it tough to turn him in if he's an IH asset," said Graham.

"Yes, Sir. That's why we decided to apprehend Selenica and take him to Serbia. The Serbs would love to have him."

"They would, Agent Carmichael. Good thinking. But they'd probably kill him themselves rather than turning him over to the ICTY," said Graham.

"Yes, Sir, but we had a plan for that," said Chuck.

"And what was that, Agent Carmichael?" asked Beckman.

"We were going to ask Director Graham to publicly congratulate them on the apprehension," said Chuck.

Graham chuckled, "Yeah. That might do it. So, what happened?"

"We took Selenica and were on the way to the Serbian border when I managed to open his smart phone...one of the new Apple ones...and I..."

"Wait a second, Chuck," said Beckman. "Those Apple phones can't be hacked into. I've had a lab full of tech guys working on that. It can't be done."

"Ummm, no, General," said Chuck. "It can. I did it."

Sarah said, with a huge grin, "In the back of a moving car with a flashlight held in his teeth."

Beckman looked stunned. Graham started to laugh long and hard. Finally, he said, "Tell you what, Chuck, on your way back to Burbank you'll be stopping in DC to teach a class or two to a few roomfuls of computer PhD's in need of your wisdom."

Chuck looked a little embarrassed, and mumbled, "Well, it wasn't really a big deal. I mean...it wasn't easy or anything, but you know...I just sort of tried some stuff..." He was blushing a little and shuffling his feet. Sarah looked like someone had just given her a wonderful gift. Every single day he just amazes more and more. She couldn't wait to see Casey and describe the look on Beckman's face.

Graham laughed again and said, "Ok, you're modest about it. Fine. Whatever. You're still stopping here to teach these supposed hotshots about the not so big deal you pulled off that they couldn't. Anyway, back to the story. What was on his phone that made you call us?"

"The asset was the only one of us who could read Albanian, so we asked him to look at the messages, texts, like that. Selenica is part of a plot to bomb something in Serbia next month. We don't know the exact date or the target itself and we don't know all of the other conspirators."

Beckman said, "Can we trust the asset's translation?"

"I believe we can, but I'm going to have it checked when we have the time. Can't hurt to have another set of eyes on the raw intelligence," said Chuck.

Graham finished the thought, "And, given that Selenica's likely an IH asset, you don't trust the Hungarians to stop it."

"Exactly, Sir. With your permission we'd like to stay here an extra few days and see if we can disrupt the bomb plot without local assistance," said Chuck.

Beckman spoke, "Where's Selenica now?"

"He's still in the back of the asset's car. We are going to make it look like a mugging. Take his wallet and jewelry … and phone, of course. But we can't leave him in his front yard until he's just about to wake up. It's cold enough outside that he runs a real risk of hypothermia if we drop him too soon," said Chuck.

Beckman said, "Chuck, you have the man and a briefcase full of truth serum. Dose him and find out what he knows."

"No, General. We aren't using an untested, potentially unsafe drug on an unwilling subject," said Chuck firmly.

"Chuck..." she started to respond.

"Chuck is right, General," said Graham. "This isn't the 70's anymore. We don't do that shit now. And these aren't the right circumstances for enhanced interrogation techniques. The planned bombing is a month away."

"Thank you, Sir," said Chuck.

"Very well, Chuck. The last thing we need is a flareup of violence in that part of the world right about now. We have enough trouble elsewhere. Trouble there never seems to confine itself to their neighborhood..."

Sarah said, "Didn't Churchill say that the Balkans produce more history than they can consume?"

"Indeed, he did. You and your team see what you can do there. Please give my personal thanks to your asset. This is a little outside what he signed up for and he should know that his assistance is appreciated."

"Will do, Sir. He'll be happy to hear that."

Graham chuckled mirthlessly, "Can't say it would be the same if he spotted a Serb with a warrant from the ICTY, but what the hell. Anyway, if you can't put a wrench in the works of the plot in a few days, I'll call my counterpart at the IH myself and lay it out for him. He'll probably be so embarrassed that one of his assets is planning shit like this from Hungarian soil he'll put a stop to it."

"Or just claim that Selenica fled to Austria before they could arrest him," said Sarah.

"Yeah, that could be," admitted Graham with a frown and a small nod. "Good luck." He looked up towards the back of the room. "Hey," he pointed at Brown. "You one of mine?"

Brown stepped forward. He was pretty nervous. The Carmichael team was quickly becoming the stuff of legend, but this was the Director himself. He'd never spoken to the Director himself. "Yes, Sir. Brown. Timothy Brown. I just graduated from the Farm in the summer, Sir."

"Great, Brown. Good to have you. From now on, you are to assist this team. Whatever they need, you take care of for them. Got it? We'll let the rest of your guys find COS Evans."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. It's an honor, Sir. Thank you," he was puppy-dog eager and Graham had to hide a small smile.

"Terrific. Ok, team. Good luck. Let me know how you do," he said and cut the connection.

Brown said, "Agent Carmichael, Agent Walker, I'm very happy to be working with you and Agent Casey. I won't let you down. How can I help?"

Chuck put the briefcase down on the table and opened it. Inside were five small vials of clear liquid held stationary in a foam insert. He closed the case again and said, "Can you put this in the next diplomatic pouch for delivery to Langley? Attention Director Central Intelligence?"

"Sure, Agent Carmichael..."

"Brown, please call me Chuck. Ok?"

The younger man grinned. "Ok, Chuck."

Sarah said, "And when that's done, get us a safe house to work from."

"You can work from here," he said. "There's plenty of room."

"We have an asset on the team with us. We don't want him coming and going from the US Embassy," explained Sarah.

"Oh. Ok. Sure, I can get us a safe house," said Brown. Chuck noted the use of the word "us" with a small smile.

"Make sure it's got a good internet connection, please," said Chuck.

"Right, Chuck," said Brown.

"And a couple of more cars, please," said Sarah. "Now that there are … five of us on the team, we'll need some more mobility."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"How about you call me Sarah? Or Walker, if you'd like, but not Ma'am," she said. She was only a few years older than Brown.

"Ok. Sorry."

With a small smile she said, "It's ok. Don't worry." She knew that she had never been this young.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Across the river, Casey and Yuri emptied Selenica's pockets and took his watch and jewelry, then manhandled him out of the back of the SUV and used the man's key to open the gate to his front yard. They put him down on the cold grass.

"He'll need an explanation for passing out," said Casey. "And a tranquilizer dart is not a good one."

Yuri bent down and punched Selenica in the back of the head.

"Yeah," said Casey, nodding. "That would work."

They watched until Selenica started to stir and then walked away, leaving the gate unlatched. As they walked back to their car, Yuri lit a cigarette and held his lighter out for Casey to light a cigar. Yuri clapped Casey on the back as they got to the black truck. Silently, they entered the SUV and drove away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: In 2016, the FBI really, really wanted to get into the smartphones of the San Bernadino terrorists to determine if the shooters had acted alone. They sued Apple to have the company open the locked phones. The ensuing litigation became a classic of "national security versus privacy." The government abandoned the lawsuit when they found a third-party contractor who could open the phones without the cooperation of Apple. To my knowledge, the identity of the contractor has never been disclosed. I have an Israeli friend, though, and he laughed at the news speculation about the contractor's identity at the time. He told me that everyone in Tel Aviv knew that it was the kid down the block who did the job for the FBI. I'm sure that's just a silly rumor repeated by my friend, but it stuck with me. I figure Chuck is at least as smart as that Israeli kid.

A/N3: Some years after this story is set, a life size statute of US President Ronald Reagan was erected in Liberty Square, Budapest, facing the US Embassy. I hope Casey made it back for the ceremony.

A/N4: Don't know if any of you read these stories on your phones through the FF app. I do sometimes. Lately, at the end of a chapter there will be a list of recommended stories. I checked and they made the same addition to the latest chapter of New Day. Just letting everyone know, those aren't my recommendations. I don't know whose they are, but they're not mine. They might be perfectly fine stories, but I have no idea.


	69. Chapter 69

A/N: What if ownership of Chuck was set to music? Just a thought. 🎵

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The team, augmented by Brown and Yuri, was sitting in the comfortable living room of a huge old apartment on a quiet residential street on the Buda side of the river. The ceilings were ten feet tall and rimmed with intricate molding. Sarah thought it likely that the solid gray stone building had been built before the turn of the prior century. Brown had made tea and coffee for them, insisting that he was the host and they were his guests in Budapest. He had been warned not to ask any identifying questions about Yuri and Yuri had been admonished not to volunteer any information. Brown did not need to know that the CIA had an asset inside the Volkoff organization. After a few hours sleep and a few hours of research, Chuck, open computer on his lap, was beginning to brief them on their target.

"Selenica is an ethnic Kosovo Albanian. He was born in 1971 in the city of Istog in the Kosovo region of Serbia, which was part of the country of Yugoslavia at the time. An only child."

Brown raised a hand, "How are Kosovo Albanians different than Albanians?"

"Albania is a country filled with Albanians. Kosovo is a region of Serbia also filled with Albanians. Not citizens of the country of Albania, but ethnic Albanians, who, for example, speak Albanian. In fact, as a percentage of population, there are more Albanians in Kosovo than in Albania itself," explained Chuck. "Selenica was nine when Tito died and the Federal authority inside Yugoslavia started to crumble. By the time he was twenty, he was enrolled in the University of Pristina studying law. As a teenager, he had managed to avoid the rising ethnic tensions between Serbs and the ethnic Albanians in Kosovo. His father was a low-level civil servant in the local building department. His mother was a homemaker. Neither seemed to have been interested in politics, even in 1989 when a state of emergency was declared by Belgrade, ostensibly to protect the ethnic Serbs in Kosovo."

"Too little, too late," said Yuri. Brown looked at him surprised. Yuri explained, "I'm Russian. We tend to see these events from the Serbian side of the argument. They were struggling to keep their country together. It obviously didn't work out for them."

"Yuri, I'm doing my best not to take a side here. Just to recite the facts as we know them. I know Russia...Russians don't view these things the same way the West does and I'm really trying to be sensitive to that," said Chuck.

Yuri raised a hand in acknowledgment, "I understand, Chuck. I'll try not to interrupt too often." He smiled a little as he said it though. He was certain he'd be interrupting again.

Chuck continued, "Anyway, by 1991 the Kosovo Albanians had …" with a glance at Yuri, "illegally ...declared independence from Yugoslavia. A number of Albanian lecturers at the University were dismissed for breaking Yugoslav law and replaced with ethnic Serbs. The University shut down and a parallel education system formed for the Albania students, mirroring other parallel institutions formed following the declaration of independence. Selenica left school and returned home to Istog. The economy sucked and he couldn't get a job. Like many civil servants, sometime in 1993, his father was dismissed from his job and replaced with a Serb. It seems the father began to drink.

"Selenica still mostly stayed out of politics. The turning point came in 1994 when his mother was killed by a Serb policeman in what was officially described as an attempted assault on the cop. I'm sure there's more to that story, but that's what I can find in the files. His father committed suicide less than a year later.

"Selenica drops off the radar at that point. We next find him as part of the KLA, the Kosovo Liberation Army. It's likely that he went to the Albanian military for training, but there's no record of it."

"Naw. Probably the BND," said Casey.

"Who?" asked Chuck.

"BND. The German Secret Service. They were busy training up the KLA guys in the beginning," said Casey, with his trademark deep growl. Yuri and Brown both looked surprised.

"Oh. I didn't know that," said Chuck. "Anyway, ostensibly the KLA formed to resist the Serb oppression..."

"The legitimate government of Yugoslavia," said Yuri with a little smile.

"True enough, I guess. The government forces. But a higher goal of the KLA, at least for some of its members, seems to have been the creation of a Greater Albania. Uniting ethnic Albanians in Albania, Kosovo, Montenegro, Greece and Macedonia.

"In 1996, Selenica was involved with the first action seen by the KLA when they began attacks on the Serb police in Kosovo. They were, predictably, seen by the government forces as terrorists, but even the NATO forces agreed that they were attempting to drive the native Serbs out of Kosovo."

"Yes," said Yuri. "Exactly."

"Selenica disappears from the record for a couple of years. It is likely that he was fighting in various engagements, but we have no specific information about his activities. He reappears in 1998 at the Lapušnik prison camp. A number of Serb civilians were killed at the camp and it is for these deaths that Selenica is eventually indicted by the ICTY."

"The KLA specialized in the rape and murder of unarmed Serb civilians," said Yuri. "They were cowards and terrorists, not soldiers."

"Be that as it may, Selenica once again drops off the radar of NATO intelligence services for a few years before the trouble four years ago at Prizren. In the meantime, NATO intervenes on behalf of the Kosovo Albanians, bombs Belgrade and installs KFOR into Kosovo to keep the peace. The violence at Prizren happened pretty much as Yuri told us. Rioters torched houses and burned a Seminary with elderly Serbs inside in a further effort to drive Serbs out of Kosovo. One of the old men was killed. KFOR sat on its hands. The West had no idea where Selenica was after that, but the best guess was Albania. Turns out, he was here in Hungary, probably protected by the IH. Unfortunately for Selenica, he was spotted by Yuri last night and, through Yuri, came to our attention."

"We have anything else, Chuck? Known associates? Girlfriends? Anything like that?" asked Sarah.

"No. Nothing in the files," said Chuck. "Casey, you want to pick up from here?"

"Sure, kid." said Casey. "I called a guy I used to know who fought with the KLA in the 90's. He's hung up his gun and is now a politician of all things. With the NATO intervention and the involvement of KFOR came a UN set up for provisional government in Kosovo. My friend was elected to the Kosovo assembly as part of their most recent election. I asked him about Selenica. He didn't have a single nice thing to say about the guy. Kosovo is on the verge of voting for independence from Serbia..."

Yuri mumbled, "Illegally."

Ignoring Yuri's interruption, Casey continued, "...and Selenica thinks that should be merely a first step to a Greater Albania. In particular, he wants to unite with the Albanians in Macedonia. It's his position that merely settling for independence for Kosovo is a betrayal of Albanians elsewhere. He doesn't give a shit that most of the Kosovo Albanians just want to get on with their lives and live in peace...join the EU...buy a color TV...you know, the normal shit. The guy I know said that the last time some of his old KLA comrades had seen Selenica, he had screamed at them and called them cowards. In return, they had threatened to turn him over to the authorities to head to trial at the Hague. Seems there's no love lost there."

"Right, Casey. Thanks," said Chuck. "And now we know he wants to blow up something in Serbia next month. Single-handedly re-ignite the war, if he and his crew can."

"So we stop the asshole," said Casey.

"Yeah, Casey. We do," said Chuck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dren Selenica sat in a quiet booth in his local bar and sipped a beer while appearing to study his tablet computer on the table in front of him. He was looking at it, but not really seeing it or the words it displayed. It was just a prop to fix his gaze upon while his mind was elsewhere.

He was in a pretty foul mood. He thought of himself as a veteran soldier. He had been in countless skirmishes with the Serbs. Had killed many men, and, truth be told, some Serb women too. He had beaten men twice his size. People were afraid of him, and for good reason. He had proven himself over and over again in dangerous situations. For a few years now, the Serbs called him the Butcher of Prizren. It was a particularly dramatic appellation to strike fear into Serb hearts. He was proud of himself and the reputation he had worked so hard to create over the last twenty years or so.

And he had been robbed in a simple street crime. Three men had knocked him out and taken his valuables and left him lying on his grass like any civilian idiot in the city. It was humiliating. He should have been so much harder to attack. He should have sensed a man behind him before the blow struck. He had seen the two men pass and paid attention to them, not by reason of paranoia, but merely wary as any urban dweller would be at the late hour on a quiet street. But the two men had been a distraction. It was a third man who, with ghostlike stealth, had struck him from behind like a coward. There was no other possibility, as the first two men had passed outside striking range when he had been hit. They were a talented team, he had to give them that modicum of credit. Of course, professional respect would only go so far. If he ever saw them again, he would kill them. It wasn't anger that motivated the desire for them to be dead by his hand. It was simply sensible that, after so many years of cultivating a reputation, he act decisively to preserve it. Of course, if the men had known who he really was, they would have stayed kilometers away from him and thanked their God that they hadn't picked him as a mark.

The act of the robbery itself was bad enough, but then he had to telephone his contact at the IH and report it. The man had advised him not to go to the police to file a report. All his identification was false and, although it was expertly prepared and supported, it made no sense to take any chances. Replacement credentials in the same name would be delivered to him sometime today, he had been assured. The IH man had feigned concern for him, but Selenica could sense an underlying disdain. There was a tiny twinge of humor in the man's voice at his expense and that was something that Selenica deeply resented.

He had no choice but to deal with the man however. Without the support of the IH, he'd have been on the dock in the Hague years ago. Probably serving a long prison sentence for those of his actions that the Western idiots considered "war crimes." Those fools were soft. They didn't understand the nature of the war he had been fighting. There was no distinction between civilian and soldier. They seemed to think that all dangerous Serbs wore uniforms or had penises. The world in which Selenica lived was not nearly that tidy and orderly. To avoid the results of those, in his mind, justifiable actions, he would have to rely on the IH man and his friends. They had provided him with a new name and identity in return for a continuous flow of information about the Kosovar Albanians. Other than his spy friends, the only people who knew he was Dren Selenica, the Butcher of Prizren, were his seven compatriots involved with him on his latest project.

His latest project. It was a brilliant plan, if he did say so himself. Once executed it would rally Albanians everywhere to rise up and unite. Macedonia would be first. The aborted Albanian uprising there a few years ago was only a taste of what would happen soon. When the bomb went off, all Albanians everywhere would understand the nature of the danger they faced. They would understand that only with a united homeland could they protect themselves and their loved ones. He had no particular love of the country of Israel, but he had a huge professional respect for the accomplishments of the Jewish people. They had realized after the Nazi's attempts to eradicate them that only with a homeland of their own could they truly be safe. The Albanians would soon realize the same thing. And he and his friends would be the instigators of that understanding. His actions would start the Albanian people on the road to a Greater Albania.

He was so caught up in his dreams of glory that it took him a moment to realize that someone was approaching his booth. He looked up at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, flawless skin, an athletic sexy body. She was looking at him squarely and seriously as she arrived at the table and slid into the booth.

Speaking in Hungarian, she said, calmly, "Jó napot, Dren. Azt hiszem, beszélnünk kell." [Good afternoon, Dren. I think we have to talk.]

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: There is a region in northern Greece called Macedonia. The southernmost state that formed from the break-up of Yugoslavia, located along the border with Greece, was also called Macedonia. Greece objected to the use of that name by its neighbor to the north. It wasn't until 2018 that the dispute over the name was resolved when the name of the new state was changed to North Macedonia. At the time this story is set, though, it was still just called Macedonia.

A/N3: The Lapušnik prison camp is real and a camp guard was sentenced by the ICTY to 13 years in prison for the crimes committed there against Serb civilians. The fictional Selenica was, obviously, not.

A/N4: Between February and August 2001 the ethnic violence convulsing the rest of the former Yugoslavia spilled over to Macedonia when the Macedonian Albanians staged an uprising. With international mediation and pressure the dispute was resolved relatively promptly and with only several dozen casualties in total.


	70. Chapter 70

A/N: I've been thinking about the ownership of Chuck. Not too sure why, though. It's not like I can do anything about it.

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Brown sat at the bar, sipping a beer and keeping watch over Sarah. Chuck, Casey and Yuri, all wearing disguises, were outside in two CIA vehicles. All five were in contact through the open channel of their intra-team encrypted communications net. At Sarah's direction, Brown was making no particular effort to conceal himself or his interest in her meeting. They had decided that Selenica should know that she had obvious back-up. It would be expected in her role and, in any event, might make the man think twice about stepping out of line if he was tempted to do so. Selenica might remember Chuck and Casey from the prior night, and Yuri was just too conspicuous, so Brown had been selected for that task.

As Sarah sat down with Selenica, Brown said, "She's in the booth."

"Right," said Casey. "Any sign that Selenica's not alone"

"No. Everybody here is ignoring him," replied Brown.

"Right, Brown. Keep an eye out, though," said Casey.

"Will do, Major."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Jó napot, Dren. Azt hiszem, beszélnünk kell." [Good afternoon, Dren. I think we have to talk.]

At the use of his real name, Selenica started and sat back in the bench seat. He stared at the woman for a moment and then his eyes immediately darted around the room and settled upon Brown, sitting calmly at the bar. Expressionlessly, Brown returned the man's gaze.

Selenica refocused on the woman sitting across from him. "Rossz ember van. A nevem Lazlo." [You have the wrong man. My name is Lazlo.]

Sarah stared at him quietly, but did not reply. Apparently, she viewed such nonsense as not deserving of a response. Finally, after long moments of silence between them, he said, "Ki vagy te?" [Who are you?]

She held up a single finger. "Egy másodperc." [One second.] She switched to German, "Sprichst du Deutsch?" [Do you speak German?]

Selenica shook his head and shrugged. She tried again, "English?"

"Yes," he said. "I speak English."

"Alright. Let's speak in English then. My Hungarian isn't good enough for a long conversation and you don't speak German." She spoke English with a slight German accent. Her underlying English was British accented, as if she had learned English from a teacher hailing from that island nation. The prevalence of American movies had made Selenica sensitive to the difference between the British and American accents.

"So, I repeat the question. Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Hanna Erhard. I am an officer of the BND. You remember us, don't you?"

"No. That name means nothing to me."

"Bullshit, Dren," she spoke harshly, her voice suddenly low and angry. "Without our training of your men you would have been massacred by the Serbs in the first month of the fighting. Cut the crap."

Selnica gave a low sigh. "Alright. Fine. Yes, early on your people were involved in training some of the men. Haven't heard from your group in years, though."

Sarah laughed without humor and said, "I hope you didn't think we had gone away and abandoned you?" She was polite and serious, but not particularly friendly. "Once we make an investment, we don't leave it behind."

"Are you here to turn me in? Send me to the Hague?" he asked. He didn't seem too frightened, but he was undoubtedly concerned.

"Dren, seriously. They told me you were smart. Try acting like it, for pity's sake. If I was here to turn you in, you'd be in the trunk of a car on your way to Serbia at the moment. We'd get a pat on the back from the Americans and my Chancellor would be a happy woman. Of course, I'm not here to turn you in."

"What do you want from me, then?" he asked.

"Why would you say that? Why do you think I want anything at all from you?"

"I'm just looking for an explanation, Ms. Erhard. It's not that I do not enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, but I am realistic enough to know that you didn't sit down with me for social reasons," he said.

"That's true enough. But, I don't want anything from you. At least not at the moment. Five...ten years from now probably, I will. Or someone from my office will, more likely. But right now, nothing. You are providing sufficient intelligence to the IH men. I can access what I need through them, at least what they share with NATO. No, Dren. That's the wrong question. The question you ought to be asking is what do you want from me?"

Selenica was still mentally at arms length from this woman. He didn't trust her and was wary of a trap. "Ok. I'll play. What do I want from you?"

"There you go. I knew you were smart, Dren. You want a warning that you wouldn't otherwise have. A warning I can give you that your IH friends seem to know nothing about."

"I'm pretty safe as it is, thanks. The IH protects me as I need it." He put last night's aberration out of his mind.

She was clearly annoyed at his answer. Her beautiful face held a deep frown. "Oh. Ok. Good. Then I'll be leaving," she said, clearly very frustrated, as she slid out of the booth and stood up. "In that case, good luck to you, Dren."

"Wait, please. Sit back down. What sort of warning are you talking about?"

Erhard sat back in her seat and said, "I don't like you jerking me around, Dren. I can leave right now and I'll be no worse off. You either are going to listen to what I have to tell you or you are not. Save us both a lot of wasted time and decide."

"I'll listen. I'm sorry. I'll listen. What is the warning?"

"It's a warning about an FSB covert action team that has targeted you," said the woman.

"The FSB? Why would the Russians be after me?" he asked, genuinely bewildered.

She shrugged. "I don't know. At least not for sure. Best guess? The Kosovo Assembly is on the verge of voting for independence from Serbia...again. This time, though, the West will recognize that independence. That's going to seriously annoy the Serbs and their Russian friends. The Russians seem to have set out to track down any Kosovo Albanians with warrants outstanding from the ICTY as a diplomatic move to embarrass the West. It's likely their hope that, with enough dust in the air about Kosovo Albanian war crimes, the West will hesitate to recognize the new country of Kosovo," she explained. "And, obviously, you are on that list of wanted war criminals."

"The IH..."

"Dren, if the Russians can prove you are who you are, the IH will run away from you as fast as they can. You think they want to face the Americans and tell them they've been protecting a wanted war criminal? Just how much loyalty do you think the Hungarian government will show you if your presence here goes public?"

Selenica was silent for a while, contemplating his situation. She was right, of course. The Hungarians had joined NATO less than a decade ago and were still making the effort to ingratiate themselves with their new big brother across the Atlantic. Finally he said, "Why are you warning me about the Russians?"

"You don't think thwarting the Russian's plan is enough reason? Fine. The Russians have influence in the Balkans through the Serbs. We Germans want influence there through the Kosovo Albanians. It's what I started with, we don't walk away from our investments. We've been keeping an eye on you, Dren. Who do you think arranged for the German KFOR unit to ignore the violence you stirred up in Prizren four years ago? We did." He looked startled. She smiled mirthlessly and said, "You're welcome."

Selenica snorted a laugh at that. "What can you tell me about the FSB team? What should I be looking out for?"

She took out her phone and pushed a few buttons. Twisting the phone around, she showed him a picture of Casey, shot from a distance and slightly out of focus. "It's a three man team. My partner and I have gotten pictures of all of them. Here's one."

Selenica immediately recognized one of the men from the prior night. 'Shit,' he thought. 'She's right. They are on to me. Damn.'

She swiped on her phone screen, and the picture changed to Chuck, similarly blurry. "Here's the second. They are both big men." Selenica grunted. "Here's the third." She showed him a blurry picture of Yuri. "This one's almost a giant. Two meters tall."

"Ugly bastard," said Selenica, with a grimace.

In her ear she heard Yuri say, "Hey..."

She twisted the phone around to look at the picture of Yuri. "Really?" she said. "I think he's kind of cute."

"Thank you," said Yuri in her ear.

"Quiet," said Casey in her ear.

"You recognize any of them? Seen them around lately?" she asked.

Selenica paused. Why should he tell this woman about last night's robbery? Reveal his humiliating experience? On the other hand, why should he keep it quiet? She already knew who he was. What did he have to lose?

"Yes. They attacked me last night. I saw the first two. The biggest one must have hit me from behind. When I came to they had taken my wallet and phone."

She looked at him with surprise and her eyes narrowed in concentration. He realized that, as beautiful as she was, she was also quite intelligent. A very formidable woman indeed. "Well, since you're still here it means they aren't sure it's you. At least not yet. They'd have taken you otherwise. They are skittish about mistaken identity. Ever since the Mossad screwed up in Lillehammer we are all a little more careful with that." She thought quietly for a moment or two, tapping a finger on the table. "They are probably checking your ID right now. What kind of phone did they take?"

"The new Apple smart phone," he said.

"Oh, that's good, at least. Those can't be cracked. Whatever you had on that isn't with them yet. You dodged a bullet on that one. How did they find you?"

"I don't know. I've been careful. And the IH guys have given me bulletproof ID."

"Nothing is bulletproof, Dren. Don't let anyone tell you different. Come on. You have to think. How did they find you?"

"I don't know. I don't."

"Are you doing anything different than you've done for the last few years? Meeting any new people? Leaving town? Changing your routine?"

"My friends and I have an operation that's imminent. A strike at the Serbs..."

"Your friends... are the others trustworthy? Could one of them have sold you out to the Russians?"

Dren thought about it seriously for a few moments and shook his head. "No. They are all loyal Albanians. They wouldn't do that. They are excited about what we have planned."

"Well, if you are certain they are loyal, that must not be the source the Russians used to find you, even if the new operation against the Serbs is the only thing you've been doing differently. But..."

"What if my friends are loyal and yet the Russians somehow found out about the plan? About the operation?" asked Selenica.

"Well..." she looked like she was thinking hard about the possibility. "Do you think that's possible? Could they have gotten wind of what you and your friends have in mind and tracked you down from that?"

"It's more likely than the idea that any of my friends had betrayed me. It's a complicated plan and has a number of moving pieces."

"Certainly possible. Is it too late to call it off? Postpone it?"

"No. Absolutely not. It cannot be postponed. The timing is crucial to its intended effect," said Selenica.

Erhard sighed heavily. "Alright." She held up a warning hand. "Do not tell me what you have planned. I truly don't want to know." He nodded. "So what can you do about it? If your plan has to move forward and there's a risk the Russians are on to it, what can you do?"

"I'll have to meet with my men. We'll move it out of the city. We were going to do that anyway, but not for a few weeks yet. We'll just do it early. Move it early. And that will get me away from the Russians for a while. They'll lose interest in me and look for someone else."

"Alright. Be careful. If you are going to do it, you should do it immediately. You shouldn't waste any time. You don't know what the Russians know already. They could be right around the next corner. Hell, they don't even have to take you themselves. They could just tell the Americans where you are and you'd be in trouble. You have no idea how close you are to getting picked up by someone."

"Yes. I will contact my men immediately," he said.

She reached into the pocket of her ski jacket and took out two more phones, placing them on the table next to the one already there. Reaching back into the same pocket, she took out a small notebook and a pen. Carelessly she brushed the phones aside with her forearm, opened the notebook and began to write. "Here is a number you can use to reach me. It's a burner phone that can't be traced."

Selenica was looking at her phones. "Can you lend me a burner? The Russians last night took my phone."

"What? You only had the one phone?" she asked, seemingly startled by the request.

"Yeah, so, I don't have a phone right now. I'll have to get a new one and I don't know that I have time. Not with the Russians on my ass."

"Oh. Yes. Certainly. Here you go." She slid one of the phones across to him. "Not a problem. Just throw it away when you are done with it. It's got a full charge." She ripped the page out of the notebook and handed it to him.

"You sure it's not an inconvenience? You don't need it?"

"No. I've got another one in the car. Take it," she said.

"Thank you," he said.

"Good luck," she said. She stood from the booth and extended her hand. "You owe us one, but we won't collect for a while yet."

"Yes, I do. Thank you, Ms. Erhard. I won't forget." He shook her hand.

"Safe travels, Dren." She walked away, nodding to Brown on her way past. With a last expressionless look at Selenica, he turned and followed her out the door of the bar, onto the Budapest street bright with winter sunshine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ten minutes later, Selenica left the bar alone and got into his Opel. Two blocks away Chuck was sitting in the back of the CIA's maroon minivan with Yuri. Chuck had his open computer on his lap. He said, "He's on the move guys. Look alive." Casey and Brown, in separate cars, acknowledged the alert. Casey was in front of Selenica's Opel, down the street in a non-descript CIA vehicle. Brown was in a similar vehicle, one block to the north, on a parallel street. Sarah was in the driver's seat of the minivan with Yuri and Chuck, located a couple of blocks behind Selenica's car. They had all donned disguises in case Selenica were to see them. Sarah, now wearing sunglasses, looked like a dark, shaggy haired, mustachioed man.

"He's heading east," said Chuck.

"Right," said Casey. "I'm on the move."

"Me too," said Brown.

Selenica stopped at a traffic light. Chuck said, "He's dialing a number...Ok. Got the number he called."

Yuri, headphones on his ears connected to Chuck's computer, picked up, "He's talking to someone named Jetmir...telling him to meet him immediately at the ...garage...Jetmir is ...ok. Jetmir is coming."

Chuck said, "He's still moving straight on the road. Now signalling a left turn. OK, turning left. North. Brown, you're up."

Casey said, "Ok, I'm turning left. Running parallel now."

"I've got him," said Brown. "Pulling in a few cars behind."

Sarah said, "We're passing you both." The minivan passed Brown's car and Selenica's Opel.

"He's dialing again," said Chuck. "Ok, got the number."

Yuri picked up, "Ok. Someone called Saban...Same..."

"He's bearing right at the fork," said Chuck, looking at the screen.

"Got it, kid. I got him," said Casey, pulling in behind Selenica as Brown dropped back.

Sarah said, "We're pulling to the left to run parallel."

Brown said, "I'll run ahead."

Yuri picked up again, "Anyway, same thing. Saban is going to meet him at the garage."

They continued running straight north, through Buda. Sarah said, "Brown, does it look like he's crossing the river? You're the most familiar with the traffic patterns here."

"I don't think so, Sarah. If he were, he'd probably be on Budaörsi útza. More access to the bridges from there. He's too far west as it is."

"Ok. Casey, I don't think we need to send one of us to loiter across the river," she said.

"Agreed, Walker," said Casey.

"Another call," said Chuck.

"He's talking to Frenk. Telling him they both have to meet him at the garage. Frenk and another guy," said Yuri.

This continued for another twenty minutes. Although they were tracking Selenica from the phone he'd taken from Sarah, they were visually tailing him anyway. If he lost the phone for some reason...finished his calls and threw it away, for example, they'd have been out of luck without the added precaution of a visual physical tail. One of the three cars was a bit behind him at all times. One was in front and one was on a parallel road. In this way, no one car was near Selenica for long enough to attract his attention. The coordinated waltz of the tailing cars worked better with a couple of additional vehicles, but Chuck and Yuri had other business to keep them busy while the cars moved north and were in no position to be driving at the moment.

Selenica made another call and the man, who's name Selenica failed to mention, agreed to meet at the garage.

They were getting to the northern reaches of Buda and traffic was getting lighter. Selenica made one more call, for a total now of six men meeting him. Selenica pulled up outside a large rundown garage. The area was quiet and somewhat shabby, with peeling paint and brown grass. Brown turned the corner and stopped a block away. Casey drove past and turned in a different direction. Each of the team's vehicles was not more than a block and a half away from Selenica and the garage rendezvous.

Chuck said, "He's making one more call...got the number..."

Yuri said, "He's speaking to Fatbard...meet at the garage...hurry, I'm there now and all the others are on their way...yes, everybody...and bring the prisoners...all four of them..."

There was silence in the car and over their communications net. Finally, Chuck said, "Prisoners? What the hell?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: The BND was, in fact, involved in early training of the KLA forces. During the violence in Prizren in 2004, the local German unit constituting the KFOR presence did, in fact, fail to intervene to quell the violence. (Unlike, for example, the Swedes in Čaglavica at the same time, who mounted a very muscular defense of the Serb civilians.) However, any connection between the BND and the reaction of the German force in Prizren was wholly fabricated by Sarah to connect two otherwise unconnected events for Selenica's benefit.

A/N3: In 1973 a Mossad hit team thought they had targeted a wanted terrorist in Lillehammer, Norway. They killed a Moroccan waiter instead. I'm reminded of the carpenter's adage – measure twice, cut once.

A/N4: I would like to thank my friend LetsGoRed for all of his suggestions on this chapter. The parts you liked are the result of his assistance. The other parts are mine.


	71. Chapter 71

A/N: Here's the obligatory (not really) reference to the ownership of Chuck.

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"Why would a bunch of guys planning to blow something up have prisoners?" asked Chuck.

No one had any answers for him. Eventually, Sarah said, "We'll have to wait until they get here to figure that out. Casey, can you see the back of the building?"

"Yeah, I've got that covered from here. There's a back door," he replied.

"Brown, what can you see?" she asked.

"Nothing. Where I'm parked I'm blocked by that gray building to the left."

"Ok, Brown. You leave the car there and come to us. No sense in having you sit there alone doing nothing."

"Ok, Sarah. On my way," he said.

"That leaves Casey by himself," said Yuri. "I'll go sit with him. If something happens, he won't be alone. Besides, I can smoke in the car with him." Yuri smiled a little as he said it.

"Ok. Be safe, Yuri," said Chuck.

Yuri squeezed Chuck's forearm and said, "You too, Chuck, Sarah."

Brown joined them and Yuri moved to Casey's car, adjusting the passenger seat to slide it all the way back. No sooner had he seated himself, than he took out his gunmetal cigarette case and golden lighter and lit a cigarette.

Keeping an eye out for activity at the back door of the garage, he exhaled a plume of smoke and said, "So, Casey, tell me. How'd you get into this line of work?"

"I was military. Special operations. It was an easy move sideways. How about you?"

Yuri took another deep drag of his acrid cigarette and said, "Not quite so direct, I'm afraid. I grew up in Moscow. Both of my grandfathers died in the Great War. My mother is a survivor of the Siege of Leningrad. She was a little girl, but the hunger didn't make any allowances for that. She still gets a special stipend from the Russian government. The Siege killed more civilians than the bombings of Dresden, Hamburg and both atomic bombs over Japan all combined. My father was an officer in the Soviet Navy. Submarines. When the time came and I was drafted into the Soviet Army, I left willingly. Enthusiastically even. I made it into Spetsnaz. The Soviet Army's special forces..."

"I know what they are. Tough unit. Tough bunch of guys," said Casey with respect.

"Yeah. We were. I served with them in Afghanistan, hunting the same muj that your men are hunting today. Of course, in those days, you were supplying them with weapons and Stinger missiles."

"Different time, Yuri," said Casey.

"Oh, I know that. I'm not bitter," said Yuri, waving with his cigarette. "I was there for several years. I thought I was doing good work. At least at first. But like your army experienced in Vietnam, the political decisions back home defeated us more than the enemy on the battlefield. While I was there, my country was falling apart. Gorbachev decided to open it up. Elections. Free speech. Free press. It all spun out of control. Three years after we left Afghanistan and shortly after I was thrown out of the Army, 1991, my country ceased to exist. Think about that for a second, Casey. Every man in my family had worn the uniform proudly. Every single one. And the country...dissolves. The whole country. The country I had lived in my whole life. It's gone. How crazy is that? Sure, I had been an ethnic Russian, but I was a citizen of the Soviet Union. Until I wasn't. Men I had fought beside. They suddenly were in a different army. Citizens of a different country. So many of us were just ...I don't know...adrift, I guess.

"And here I was back in Moscow. The economy had collapsed. There was no experience with capitalism. The only people who knew anything about buying and selling were the criminals. But that only makes sense, right? When business is outlawed, as it was in the Soviet Union, only criminals will do business. And there were no systems in place to govern anything like that. The police were just another armed gang for hire. The courts and judges were for sale to the highest bidder. I don't begrudge those people that. They weren't being paid by the state and they had to feed their families. In the Soviet Union you learned to cheat the system from birth, it was the only way. It became engrained in us.

"I started working for a debt collector. He had legal training. If you wanted him to collect your debt for you, you had to bring him all the paperwork showing that the debt was truly owed and you had made an effort to collect without force. He turned more customers away than he took. He was doing a job the courts were supposed to do, but weren't. If the debt was not legitimate, in his eyes, he was nothing but a thief. My partner and I would go and talk to the debtor. Explain the situation. It was only when that didn't work that we would resort to force. My boss was an honorable man. I liked him. He was murdered one night by a mob chief who wanted to take over that business."

Casey was listening, fascinated.

"I killed that mob chief. Just seemed like a nice gesture to make on behalf of my old boss. It was like the wild west in your old movies. No law but the gun. We had a drunk for a President. It was complete anarchy. If you wanted to buy a business, say. You could negotiate with someone who wanted to sell a business. Today, in the West maybe, you show up with lawyers. Then, in Moscow, you showed up with a half dozen men with AK's. So, did the seller. That was just how business operated. The murder rate was ridiculous. Only South Africa had a higher murder rate. The only marketable skill I had was the use of force, so that was how I came to make a living. The most successful of those criminals became today's oligarchs. They took control of the natural resources and the arms industries, the two categories of Russia's most important exports. That's how Volkoff rose to the top, with Frost at his side throughout."

"But not just him. Federov, getting married next week. All of them. They climbed out of the mayhem of the 90's to be the top. They are hard, paranoid, dangerous people. Killing means absolutely nothing to them."

"How did you end up with Volkoff?" asked Casey.

"It was soon after I got out of prison."

"You were in prison?" asked Casey.

"Yeah."

"For what?" asked Casey.

"I don't know," responded Yuri.

"What do you mean, you don't know? How could you not know?"

"They picked me up one day. Nine months later, they released me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. They never told me."

"Wait a second," said Casey. "You mean they picked you up and you never knew why and then they released you and to this day, you still don't know why?"

"That's right," said Yuri. Casey grunted, astonished. "And I don't want to know. So, Volkoff. If this were the corporate world, I would say I came into his employ in a corporate acquisition. I was working for a growing mob led by an ex-colonel. He was making good inroads in the illegal arms trade. Selling crates of AK's. He wanted to expand his customer base to Africa, so he approached Volkoff with the idea of doing a joint venture. Volkoff seemed to have good contacts overseas. Volkoff liked what he saw, so he had Frost kill the man and Volkoff took over the colonel's business. I came along with it. A bit at a time, I have climbed the ranks within the Volkoff organization over the years. I'm now one of his top men. Selling death and destruction around the world." Yuri's voice sounded bitter.

"Doesn't sound like you have a lot of job satisfaction, Yuri," said Casey.

Yuri shrugged. "That's overrated anyway, my friend. I'm not leaving Moscow. I need to stay for my mother and she's certainly not going anywhere. So long as I'm there, I'll work for Volkoff. I can't very well quit. What am I going to do? Go to law school? Open a flower shop? Frost would hunt me down and kill me if I tried to leave Volkoff. God knows what she would do to me if she learned that I was on your payroll. I'll stay." He shrugged again. "The story comes out the way it is written, Casey. The things I've done in my life...well, let's just say..."

In their ears Sarah said, "Guys, Selenica's men are starting to arrive. I'm feeding the audio from the bug in his phone through the net. Yuri, we'll need you to translate."

"Right, go ahead," said Yuri. He continued, "Greetings. Questioning what's up...Selenica is putting them off...only wants to explain once...wait for everyone to arrive...ok, quiet now. Wherever Selenica is, he's not with the other men. I can't make out the conversations in the background..."

"Ok," said Sarah. "We'll leave the link open in case."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They didn't have a plan yet. At the moment, they were still in the phase of gathering intelligence. When they knew enough about Selenica's intentions, they could form a plan to stymie what he and his friends had in mind. They had managed to put all the members of Selenica's cabal in one place and listen in on their discussion. So far, so good.

By ones and twos men arrived at the garage, but Selenica still balked at briefing them until everyone was there. The last one to arrive was the man bringing the four prisoners. A small van pulled up the front of the garage and backed up to the door. As they watched four men were unloaded and quickly hustled inside. The men wore black hoods and had their hands bound behind them.

Once the whole collection of men had assembled, Selenica began his briefing of his men, with Yuri translating for the benefit of his team.

"Greetings...thanks for dropping everything and coming...we have a problem...I have reason to believe that a team of Russian FSB agents might be on to this plan, or at least on to him...all talking at once...ok, he's explaining about the woman BND agent and the attack on him last night...no talk of dropping the plan...he's proposing to move up the date of ...relocation...more talking at once...not ready...the plan to get the prisoners across the border to Serbia is not ready...they can't be moved yet...oh, shit, kill the prisoners here and get new ones in Serbia...talking at once...where to pick up new Serbs...political Serbs...urgent to move them...can't...kill them here...talking at once...they are coming to an agreement...kill the Serb prisoners and pick up new ones on the other side of the border...pack up the rest of the gear and drive the mixer...that's the word, mixer...down tomorrow...Ok, they are starting to pack up to move south...pull the van inside...they'll kill the prisoners on their way out, leave the bodies here...Shit."

"Ok...shit," Sarah said, "We don't know what they have planned, but we aren't going to sit here and let them murder four people. We have to go in."

Next to her in the front of the van, Chuck grimaced, but nodded. Brown, sitting behind her, said, "Yes." Yuri and Casey, in their ears, agreed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Selenica was proud of his men. No panic. No recriminations. No thought of abandoning the strike. Just calm agreement to relocate early to the empty warehouse to their south. These were good men. Solid men. All veterans of the fight against the Serbs and all totally dedicated to the dream of a Greater Albania. Prepared to leave their families and homes on a moment's notice. He watched them packing the materials they would need.

Given that the FSB could interrupt them at any time, he was glad that the men had all come armed. In addition to the bomb making materials, they had their weapons to be loaded as well. He, to his embarrassment, had not been carrying his own pistol, and made a point to remedy that deficiency. He walked past the prisoners, now bound at the ankles and lying squirming and hooded on the hard concrete floor of the garage's office, and into the storage room behind the office. Squatting down behind some boxes, he opened the case containing his favorite weapon, an UZI submachine gun. He heard footsteps in the office as a couple of his men checked the prisoners.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Yuri and Casey silently entered the garage by the back door, adjacent to the office, grateful that the hinges were well oiled. The garage smelled strongly of manure...no, fertilizer. That made sense to both men, as fertilizer, with ammonium nitrate, mixed with a fuel like diesel can make a potent explosive and is relatively easy to obtain. 'Well,' thought Casey, 'at least they now knew the composition of the bomb that Selenica is planning.'

Selenica's men were to one side of the garage, packing large bags of fertilizer into the back of the van. Next to the van, hidden from the outside behind a large door, was a somewhat rundown cement mixer. Ok, that made sense too, the mixer Selenica had been talking about. Fill it with fertilizer and fuel and mix the slurry. It would become a massive truck bomb with the right detonator. All of the men wore weapons, or had them easily to hand. Why they had not posted sentries was a mystery. Putting Yuri's opinion of the KLA aside, these were not top notch soldiers by any means. None of the men had noticed Casey and Yuri enter the building.

In their heads, both Casey and Yuri had done a quick count of the men they could see. One was missing. Selenica himself. Casey looked at Yuri, held up one finger and shrugged, to show he didn't know where one of them was. Yuri had reached the same conclusion himself, and nodded in agreement.

Casey and Yuri were wearing tactical vests and carried multiple weapons each, including the Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. It was their hope that they could make it in and out of the building without being detected by Selenica and the crew loading the van. Free the prisoners and spirit them out of the building to safety, then form a plan to disrupt the bombing itself.

While Casey kept his eyes on the men, Yuri stuck his head around the corner to look in the office. He saw the four prisoners bound on the floor, but no one else. He tapped Casey on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the office. Casey nodded and, never taking his eyes off Selenica's men, backed towards the open door to the office.

Trusting Casey to have his back, Yuri swept his eyes over the small office area. He saw the open door to the storage room at the back wall and looked inside. Boxes and cartoons, but no people. No Selenica.

He approached the prisoners. Yuri put his weapon on the floor and took out an odd looking knife with a cylindrical handle and blade cover. He took the cover off the sharp blade and knelt down next to one of the bound men to free the man's feet. As he did so, Selenica walked into the room from the seemingly empty storage room. Seeing Yuri and immediately recognizing him from Agent Erhard's photo, he raised his UZI submachine gun to point at Yuri and said, "Hani mut, rusisht." [Eat shit, Russian – in Albanian] Yuri responded, "Potselui mou zhopy, Selenica." [Kiss my ass, Selenica -in Russian] At the same time, Yuri pointed the knife at Selenica and pushed a button on the handle. The spring-loaded blade shot from the handle and flew across the room to bury itself its entire length in Selenica's throat. His eyes bugged out in surprise and one hand went to his impaled throat. Instinctively, he pulled the blade free. It was followed by a gush of blood that poured over his shirt and down his chest. He gurgled wetly and began to collapse, but as he did, his finger tightened on the trigger and the submachine gun in his hand stuttered out a burst of fire. Yuri, without conscious thought, moved to cover the body of the prone man at his feet with his own. The burst ended harmlessly on the concrete floor, but the damage was done.

Casey said, "We're blown, Walker. You and Brown come in heavy. Chuck, do it."

A number of noises happened almost simultaneously. The alarmed shouts of the six men in the garage bay. The sounds of breaking glass as Chuck pitched two flashbang grenades through the window of the building. The crash as Brown broke open the door to the garage with a single well-placed kick above of the door handle.

The flashbangs detonated and Selenica's men spun to face the door as Brown and Sarah came through, also armed with the MP5 with the collapsible stocks extended. One of the men reached into a box and pulled a fragmentation grenade from a pile of them. He pulled the pin and threw it at Sarah and Brown. Brown reacted instantly. He shifted his grip on the weapon in his hand and, using the side of the gun's body, batted the grenade in midair back at Selenica's men. Immediately, he felt Sarah's hand on the back of his vest pulling him off balance and back out through the open door to the garage. He and Sarah fell in a heap outside the building and didn't see the result of his grenade return.

The six men had been gathered together to load the van. The grenade flew at them and came down in the midst of the group before it exploded at roughly chest height. The men were ripped apart by the shrapnel and flung away from the blast.

Casey and Yuri, who had ducked back into the office for protection, left the office and made their way over to the downed men without delay. Brown and Sarah were coming in through the door and also approaching them. It didn't take long to determine that the men were all dead.

In the silence, that followed, Chuck came to the open doorway. Sarah looked to him and said, "Don't come in here, Chuck. You don't want to see this."

He looked at her face and decided he didn't want to see it. He backed out without delay.

Brown was looking at the wreckage of the six men. From the expression on his face Sarah thought she knew what might come next. She took his arm and said firmly, "Do not puke here. It will leave your DNA for the Hungarians to find."

Brown, still looking at the remnants of the grenade's explosion, swallowed thickly and nodded his head. Sarah said, "You did really good here. Really good. You saved my life. Maybe all of our lives. I'm going to tell Graham personally." Brown smiled weakly. "This was your Red Test, huh?" Brown nodded. "Ok. You'll get through it, Tim. Both Casey and I have. You will too. Go outside and keep an eye on Chuck, please."

"Ok, Sarah," he said and left the garage gratefully.

Casey, Yuri and Sarah gathered near the trucks. She looked closely at the bodies.

"Ok," said Sarah, "Where's Selenica?"

"Dead in the office," said Yuri.

"With the four prisoners. They're unharmed, but still restrained," said Casey. "I think we should trank them and cut them lose. When they wake up they can call the Hungarian cops and we'll be long gone."

Yuri nodded and Sarah said, "OK. We can collect any papers or hard drives or anything else we can find. Be able to tell Langley what these assholes were up to."

Yuri said, "I'll get Chuck's trank gun and tell the prisoners what we are about to do. There was a computer in the office and papers on the desk. I'll get Chuck to help me with that stuff."

"Thanks, Yuri. Take him in the back door, huh? No need for him to see this," she gestured at the floor. Yuri grunted an affirmative response. "Casey," she continued, "how about you and I start collecting pocket trash from the bodies?"

"Good," he said, bending to the task.

Fifteen minutes later they were in the three cars and headed away from the garage and the carnage there. They had left the doors closed and lights off, except for the light in the office. Chuck was driving the minivan, as Sarah had elected to go with Brown in his car.

Chuck blew out a long breath. "Well, that didn't turn out the way I'd figured it would. Hell of a way for this operation to end. Killing them all..." There was unhappy resignation in his voice.

Yuri said, "Chuck, you know as well as I do, man plans and God laughs. You wanted to stop a collection of violent terrorists without hurting anyone. I admire that, seriously, I do. But you've got to remember that part of the decision making here was theirs. In the military we used to say that no plan survives the first encounter with the enemy. The enemy has a say in how the events turn out. It was their decision to kill four men in cold blood. It was then our decision to stop them from doing that. Maybe if they weren't going to kill their prisoners, tonight would have ended up differently. Maybe we could have arranged for them to be stopped at the border with Serbia and wrapped up their plan that way. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I don't know. But none of that happened. They made a decision and they ended up dead and their prisoners ended up alive and going home to their families. And God knows how many lives we saved in Serbia from whatever bombing these assholes had in mind. We did good, Chuck. We did good."

"Thanks, Yuri. I know you are right. It's ...just that the violence in this life always gives me pause."

"I understand, but...there's violence, my friend and then there's violence." Yuri was silent for a while and then said, "Thank you, Chuck."

"Thank me? For what?"

"Chuck, I did good today. I did something good. I stopped some bad guys from killing innocent civilians. I...I don't find myself in a position to ...to do good, very often. Well, really not at all since I got out of the Army. I … I kind of like it. I feel good about it. And it's because of you...you and your team. If left to my own, I'd have caught him outside the bar and snapped his neck. You stopped me. And because you did, we stopped the whole bomb plot. Saved many lives. Thank you, Chuck. I don't know if I'll ever be able to do this again, but...well, for now at least...thank you."

"You're a good man, Yuri," said Chuck, giving his arm a squeeze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: Although I took some liberties to fit within the confines of this AU, I have closely based Yuri's backstory and description of Moscow in those days on the life of a good friend of mine who emigrated from Russia to America in the 90's to get away from the life he was leading in Moscow. I think that his description of that place at that time was pretty remarkable.

A/N3: There are any number of sites where you can learn the details of how to make the kind of bomb that Selenica and his men had in mind. It was used by Timothy McVeigh in Oklahoma City, for example. You will not read those details here, though. Much as I enjoy describing technical stuff, I have decided not to explicate that particular bit of knowledge. There's enough mayhem in the real world as it is.

A/N4: The Spetsnaz ballistic knife is real. It's also probably illegal where you live.

A/N5: Don't forget to head on over to the Facebook page for Chuck fanfiction. A bunch of us hang out there and talk about our favorite fanfiction. We tease David a lot. So, if you are interested in teasing him that's the place to be.


	72. Chapter 72

A/N: You know it's not really necessary to mention ownership of Chuck before every chapter, right? But, what the hell, I haven't been sued yet, so why mess with a good thing?

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It was a bright, sunny day and the sky was so blue it was almost sparkling. The temperature hovered around the freezing point. Yuri was driving his SUV across the beautiful Margaret Bridge from Buda to the Pest side, with Chuck in the passenger seat next to him. Sitting behind them were Casey, Brown and Sarah. Chuck was admiring the 120 year old stone bridge as they passed over it heading east, and observing on his left the bulk of Margaret Island in the middle of the Danube, covered in a light coating of snow and shining brightly in the sunlight. Now that the ad hoc Selenica mission was behind them, he was really enjoying the sights and feel of this ancient European city, so different from what he was used to at home.

Chuck and Yuri had spent several hours the prior night in the safe house apartment going over the intel acquired from Selenica's garage. Chuck to organize and analyze it (and to access the hard drives) and Yuri as translator. That morning they were on their way to the Embassy to report to Graham the results of the operation against Selenica and his men and what they had pieced together and surmised about Selenica's plans.

Just as they were arriving at Liberty Square, across from the Embassy, Brown received a text. "Oh, shit," he said. "They found Evans...well, they found his body. They found him in the Danube. There's an emergency meeting of all of us in fifteen minutes. Crap."

"It's ok, Tim. You go to that meeting. You were tremendous help with the Selenica thing, but that's over now. You go hear what the new... acting, I guess...COS has to say. It will probably be pretty important for your next few weeks," said Sarah, as she got out of the car.

"You sure?" he sounded hesitant.

"Yeah, kid. Go. You did good with us. Thanks for your help," said Casey. He handed Brown a business card. "This gets you to one of my burners. Call me if you want to talk." He patted Brown on the arm.

"Thanks, Casey. I was happy to help. We did good. Those guys were going to kill a lot of people. We did good," he said.

"Yeah, kid. We did good," said Casey, giving him another reassuring pat on the arm. By this point they were all standing on the edge of the park near Yuri's car.

"Bye, guys. Bye, Yuri," said Brown. He still did not know Yuri's last name.

"Goodbye, Agent Brown. Take good care of yourself," said Yuri, shaking the man's hand.

"Thank you. You too." He turned to the group. "I'll make sure you can pass through to get in without security checks," he assured them as he turned to go.

"Thanks," said Chuck, "but we can follow you now. We'll be going inside too."

"No. I'm saying goodbye here," said Yuri.

"Oh. Alright," said Brown. "Then I'll split. Bye." He waved and ran off across the park, eager to get to the meeting with his Budapest team.

"Yuri, why don't you come in? Just one time won't blow your cover with Volkoff," said Chuck.

"I know," said Yuri.

"Then what is it?" Chuck asked.

"You're going to be talking to the boss," said Yuri, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah. He's going to be pretty happy with you. I'm sure he'll want to thank you himself," said Chuck.

"That's alright, Chuck. I don't like talking to authority. Never have. I'll leave now. Let you guys talk to the men in power," said Yuri. "Better you than me."

"Alright, Yuri. I certainly don't want to force you to hear all the praise that will be thrown your way," said Chuck, with a smile. "You might blush."

"Goodbye, my friend," said Yuri, giving Chuck a big hug.

"Goodbye, Yuri. Please be safe. You are in a dangerous line of work," said Chuck.

"You too." He turned to Casey and wrapped him in a hug. "Beregi sebya, brat." [Take care, brother.]

Casey responded, "Vy tozhe, starik." [You too, old man.]

Yuri released Casey and stuck out his hand to Sarah, politely. She raised an eyebrow and smiled, holding her arms wide for a hug. Chuckling, he gave her a hug and she kissed him on the cheek. He said, with a jerk of his head at Chuck, "Take care of this one."

"Count on it, Yuri."

Yuri left them and walked back to his SUV at the curb and to head back to his own world, lighting a cigarette as he went.

Chuck, Casey and Sarah walked across the park and into the American Embassy. True to his word, Brown had left instructions at the gate that they were to be admitted to the building bypassing the normal security protocols.

It didn't take them too long at all to find themselves back in the conference room in the CIA section of the building and initiating a conference call with Graham. The Budapest CIA team, including Brown, was also assembled in a nearby conference room, getting a briefing on the death their former boss.

Graham greeted them. "Good morning, team. I seem to be talking to Budapest a lot today," he said, with a sad shake of his head.

"Yes, Sir. We heard about Evans. Anything we can do to help?" asked Sarah.

"No. Thank you, Agent Walker. It's going to be a police matter, if it's anything. I may ask the FBI to get involved. I don't know yet. The Budapest coroner has Evans' body right now. It's early yet. We don't even know what killed him at this point. Why don't you give me the report on the Selenica business?"

Chuck took the lead again. "Sir, Agent Walker approached Selenica yesterday afternoon and conned him into assembling his men. He decided that he had to relocate the pending operation out of Budapest. In addition, she arranged for him to take a cell phone from her, one that I had previously doctored. We followed him to the meeting with his men at a garage on the northern edge of the Buda side of the city. They had been holding four Serb men as prisoners and, as part of their intended relocation south, they were about to kill their prisoners. We intervened to stop the murders. In the ensuing violence, Selenica and his men were killed. There were no good guys hurt."

"Do we think this will disrupt the bombing?" asked Graham.

"Yes, Sir. These were all the men involved. Selenica had said so himself."

"Ok. Good. Any chance the action can come back to us?" asked Graham.

"I doubt it, Sir. The only surviving witnesses were the prisoners we freed and we didn't remove their hoods until they had been tranquilized. Our team all wore gloves and there were no cameras around. I think we are probably in the clear."

"Excellent," said Graham. "Do we know what the target was?"

"We found maps and photos of the target. It was a nondescript white building in Pristina," Chuck said, mentioning the capital of Kosovo.

"I thought that the target was in Serbia," said Graham.

"Well, for the time being, at least, Pristina is still Serbia," said Chuck. "It took a while, but Gobrienko and I finally identified it as the building housing the Kosovo Assembly. We believe that Kosovo is about to declare its independence from Serbia. Putting all of the information we found together, it seems that Selenica's intent was to blow up the Assembly with the delegates inside immediately after the vote was recorded, killing all of them."

"Dammit," said Graham. "And the Serb prisoners were to be found there dead to make it a false flag operation, right? Everyone would think that the Serbs had over-reacted and bombed the Assembly in response to the independence vote. The West would come down on the Serbs with both feet..."

"Yes, sir. Their plan...their hope I guess, was that Albanians everywhere would be so angry at the Serb's actions that they would ignite against their governments and unite to form Greater Albania."

"Idiots," said Graham. "It wouldn't have worked, but they were blinded by their own fanaticism. Just lucky you stumbled upon it. Speaking of which, where's Gobrienko? I wanted to thank him."

"He's heading back to Moscow. I think he'd be embarrassed to be thanked by the brass," said Casey in his deep growl.

With a chuckle, Graham said, "Yeah. I've known guys like that. Well, when you talk to him again, tell him an extra $200,000 will go into his Swiss account as a thanks. That's a decent pat on the back for a couple of day's work."

"He expressed to Chuck last night a certain satisfaction at the job we did, but the money will be appreciated no doubt. I'm sure he'll be pleased, Sir," said Sarah.

"So, team, you did very well in Budapest. A simple transaction with Gobrienko turned into a quickly assembled mission to stop a bombing. As usual, you handled this mission with admirable speed, skill and efficiency. Once again, your team has excelled. Good job."

"Thank you, Sir," said Sarah. "If I may, we'd like to convey a very positive review of Agent Timothy Brown, the rookie you assigned to help us. He did a very fine job, culminating in his performance last night against Selenica's men. He batted back a live grenade, saving my life and his own. The grenade detonated amongst the terrorists and killed six men."

"I wouldn't want to play tennis against him, Sir," said Chuck.

"Apparently not," said Graham, blowing out a long sigh.

"Sir, that was his Red Test," said Sarah.

"Ah, ok..." said Graham, with a bit of a concerned scowl. "How is he?"

"He's alright, Sir. Casey and I sat with him last night for a few hours, while Chuck and Yuri were sifting through the raw intelligence on Selenica's plans. He's alright, I guess. It was a pretty gruesome sight. The grenade detonated among the men at chest height apparently. Bit of a mess. And for his first time..."

"I understand. I'll have the new Chief of Station keep an eye on him. We have a counselor in Berlin. I think that's the closest. If he needs it."

"I think that's a fine idea, sir."

"So, before you come back stateside, I have another job for you. I want you to head over to Switzerland and keep an eye on the Federov wedding that Gobrienko told you about. A big collection of these guys is going to be at one place and one time. Just go and see what you see. Today is Wednesday and the wedding is Sunday. You should be able to drive there by Friday and have a good look around before Federov and his bride tie the knot."

"Ok, Sir," said Sarah.

"I've alerted the Swiss DAP that you will be there to observe. Sounds like there will be more spies watching than there will be guests at the wedding. The wedding is to take place in the Royal Grande Hotel in Interlaken. We've booked you in to the hotel under the usual covers. Take one of the Budapest station's cars."

"Very well, Sir," said Sarah.

"Good luck, team," said Graham.

"Thank you, Sir. Goodbye," said Sarah.

"One moment. Chuck," he said, "I'd like to speak with you alone for a minute, if you could."

"Certainly, Sir," said Chuck. With his eyes he asked Sarah if she had any idea why he was being singled out. She shook her head and shrugged.

"We'll be right outside, Chuck," she said.

"Right. See you in a minute, I guess." Sarah and Casey left the room and closed the door behind them. He turned to Graham with no small amount of trepidation. "Did I do something wrong, Sir?"

Graham gave a quick bark of laughter. "No, Chuck. Quite the opposite, in fact. Trust me, you aren't in trouble. Chuck, this spy business came at you out of the blue. No training. No warning. A surprise email from Larkin and next thing you know Agents Walker and Casey are fixtures in your life. Suddenly you have all the government's secrets in your head and you're defusing bombs in Union Station. Ever since that first day you have just been more and more impressive, son.

"I saw the tape of your interrogation by the MI-6 agents and subsequent discussion with that La Ciudad woman. Chuck, that was unbelievable. You did better than all but a handful of my veteran agents could have done. I showed that tape to some people around here. People I have worked with for years and whose judgement I respect a great deal. When I explained to them afterward that you didn't have a single day of training, that you were a civilian...they were dumbfounded. Speechless.

"I listened to the tape of you turning Yari Demetrios while at gunpoint in New Jersey. Exceptional work, Chuck. Exceptional. You heard what Barry Longshore said, that you deserve the reputation you have. And Barry's a pretty tough nut. Impressing him is a big deal.

"This Selenica business. Gobrienko is your asset and you handled him perfectly, without any training in doing so. You cracked a phone that our experts told us could not be cracked...By the way, don't forget that you have to stop in DC on your way home...Yet, you signed up for none of this, son. How are you doing? How are you handling it all?"

"I'm fine, Sir. Better than fine, actually. I told Sarah and Case. There are aspects of this spy stuff that I really hate. I don't like the violence. I don't like the lying. I mean, I see the need for it, but don't like it. But overall, I'm really happy with what I'm doing. For the five years after the trouble at Stanford, I did nothing. I just wasted my time. Now, I feel like I'm doing something ...something good. I'm helping people. We just stopped a bomber, for God's sake. He was going to kill four people last night and a building full next month. We saved lives and I helped. I'd have preferred if we didn't have to kill all the bad guys, but ...well, I understand it. And working with Casey and Sarah is.. frankly, Sir, it's the best thing to ever happen to me. You know that Sarah and I have a personal relationship outside of work, and that's ...well, I can't even put into words how wonderful that is, Sir, but I am talking here about the work part of this. Sarah and Casey are brilliant and knowledgeable and just so damn impressive. I'm certain that the only reason that I can do any of this...at any level... is because of them."

Graham said, "Agents Walker and Casey are two of the best we have. No question about that. But, Chuck, to say you yourself are exceeding our expectations is a gross understatement. Every time we turn around this team does something totally extraordinary and we have you to thank..."

"Sir, I …"

"I know. You are going to say something self-deprecating and complimentary to your partners. Take it as a given, ok? Let me finish. The Intersect has been a promising experiment, but it is still an experiment and needs much more work. Your flashes are essentially random and the information cannot be relied upon to solve the team's challenges because it might never pop up. When it does, great. But sending your team into situations on the mere hope that you will flash is foolhardy. Agents Walker and Casey are spies. The best we have. They have extensive training over many years. You are not a spy...unless, that is, you want to be. Here's the question I wanted to talk to you about, now that I know you are enthusiastic about the work you are doing. You now have your undergrad degree..."

"Thank you again for that, Sir," said Chuck.

"No thanks necessary, Chuck. Anyway, there's no longer any impediment to getting you into the Farm, or any other training program I want. I can make you a spy, if you want it. Your call, son. You have a real aptitude for this work. I can get you the same training they have, if that's what you want. Just say the word."

Chuck's eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh...wow...Thank you, Sir. Can I think about it?"

"Of course. The offer does not expire," said Graham.

"Ok. Thank you. I'll ...I'll think about it. May I ask, is it something that you want me to do?"

"Maybe. Honestly, I don't know. You've seen what my people do. What they are tasked with doing sometimes. I don't know if that's right for you and only you can say. I just want you to think about it and know that it's open to you if you choose it."

"Ok, Sir. I will do that. Thank you for the opportunity."

"You're welcome, Chuck. Good luck in Switzerland. Try the chocolate."

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A/N2: On February 17, 2008, a little over a month from when this story is set, the Kosovo Assembly voted for independence from Serbia, seceding from that nation. The Western nations immediately recognized its status as a new separate country. Serbia, instead of reacting violently (as many nations have when faced with the secession of a portion of their territory) took Kosovo to court. To Serbia's dismay, in July of 2010 the International Court of Justice in the United Nations ruled that Kosovo's actions did not violate international law. However, the separation of Kosovo continues to be a controversial event to some people. In 2014, Russia cited it as a precedent when the Ukrainian province of Crimea voted to separate from Ukraine and become a part of Russia. Western objections to the Crimean vote were labelled, by the Russians, as no more than blatant hypocrisy.

A/N3: DAP, the Service for Analysis and Prevention, was the Swiss domestic intelligence agency, roughly the equivalent of Britain's MI-5. The foreign intelligence agency was the Strategic Intelligence Service, SND. As of 2010, they were merged to form the Intelligence Service of the Federation (FIS). At the time this story is set, however, they were still separate organizations. And, of the two, it seemed most likely that the agency tasked with domestic security would be alerted to allied spies operating in their neighborhood.


	73. Chapter 73

A/N: Ownership of Chuck. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Time for a ROAD TRIP. I love road trips.

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Not too long after leaving the American Embassy in Budapest, Chuck, Sarah and Casey were in the maroon minivan given to them by the CIA Budapest station and driving on the M1 westward towards Vienna. Casey and Sarah had decided that, since Vienna was about three hours away from Budapest, if they left promptly, they could be there for dinner. Sarah was driving with Chuck next to her and Casey in the back seat. She had called ahead and booked them two connecting rooms at a hotel she knew in that Austrian city.

Chuck was quiet and looking at the scenery pass by his window. Truth be told, there wasn't much in the way of scenery. The ground was flat as a table and mostly covered with snow. There were some of the usual sights along the highway, cheap hotels, restaurants, gas stations, warehouses, but nothing very much to hold his interest.

In any event, his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about the offer Graham had made to him, to become a real spy.

Finally, Sarah said, "So, what did Graham want? Don't keep us in suspense."

"He invited me to go to the Farm. To become a spy."

There was a grunt of surprise from Casey.

Sarah said, "What?" Sarah's head spun to look at him with shock. "Why would he...? No. No. He should have asked me first. He shouldn't spring that on me...on us like that. It's not right...he ..we should have talked about it..." She sounded quite upset.

"What did you tell him, kid?" asked Casey, cutting through Sarah's obvious discomfort.

"I told him I would think about it."

"And?" asked Casey.

"And I don't know what to do with the offer. I never thought of myself as ...as like that...a spy. James Bond. Jason Bourne. Maybe I was Q, in my own head, you know? A gadget guy. But out there in a tux and karate chopping bad guys...I mean I still don't think of myself that way and here we are doing what we're doing anyway. I'm in awe of you both, what you can do. You know that. Fit into any situation. Sarah, the way you talked Selenica into doing exactly what we wanted him to do. And Casey, I think you're made of iron. You are the toughest guy I've ever met. The toughest guy I've ever conceived of. I mean, there's no amount of training that can get me to even come close to you two. So, who am I kidding thinking about the Farm? But, on the other hand, I really like what I'm doing, at least parts of it. What we're doing together. You know that, I've told you that before. What if the Farm can make me better at it? So I can help more people? Or help them better, you know? I'll tell you what I really need though. What I really want to do is talk to you both about it. It's not a decision I'm going to make myself."

"Naw, kid. Maybe you talk to Sarah about it, but it's your decision. Yours and hers. It's not for me to say."

"No, Case. You're wrong. You and Sarah...well, I'm not making decisions without both of you. I'm not. In the last few months...well, I think you both know how I feel about you both. I don't want to go all lady-feelings on you, Case, but this is a team decision."

"I hear you, Chuck. I really do. But I still think..."

"No, Casey. It's a team decision," Chuck looked at him seriously and sounded pretty firm. It reminded Casey of the way Chuck had stood up to Yuri when the man had wanted to kill Selenica straight-away. This was Chuck at his most determined.

Casey was silent and they drove for another few kilometers before Sarah said, "I don't want you to do it. I don't want you to be a spy. You're Chuck. You're my Chuck. The parts of what I do...what Casey does, that you are uncomfortable with...that discomfort...that's what makes you you. You're a good guy. Bryce was right, though I hate to say that. You are too good for the spy life and I don't want you to change to fit it. One of the reasons I fell in love with you was that you were just good. A really good guy. The Farm would ...well, to succeed at what we do...I just don't want you to do it."

"Ok, Sarah," said Chuck quietly. He reached out and squeezed her hand and gave her a little smile.

Twisting around in his seat, he looked at Casey. Casey had been looking out the window, but he looked at Chuck when Chuck turned. They contemplated each other silently for a moment or two. Then Casey said, "Hypothetically, let's swap you out of the team and replace you with Larkin. Just hypothetically. Naw, you know what, Sarah has a history with that asshole, so that's a bad example. Let's take ...Longshore, the guy from New Jersey. Swap you out for Longshore. Me, Walker and Longshore. He's a spy and a good one. Had all the training you could want. How long does the team last?"

Chuck shrugged. Casey went on in his deep growl. "It doesn't, kid. It doesn't last. No way in the world I'm on a team with him. Nothing wrong with the guy, I'm sure he's terrific, just doesn't work. Nothing to keep me in the mix. Walker too. Just doesn't happen. Swap ME out for Longshore, on the other hand, and it's no big deal. Team goes on just fine." Chuck took a breath to object, but Casey raised a hand to forestall the interruption. "This team we have is only a team because of you, Chuck. Only you. You are what holds us together and gets us the successes we have had. And we've had some pretty damn impressive successes. The way you look at things, at situations, is unique. It gives us an edge. And it doesn't have the slightest thing to do with that fucking Intersect in your head. Nothing. The idea of sending you to the Farm to bang that uniqueness out of you is just plain stupid. You are the hub of the wheel. We don't need another spy. We just need you. What we have here..." He waved a finger to encompass all three of them. "...it ain't broke, Chuck. It ain't broke and I see no need whatsoever to fix it. None."

Chuck was shocked. Even Sarah was shocked. But she said, "He's right, Chuck. He's right. Making you a spy isn't necessary and may even be counterproductive. Casey and I are teaching you every day and every day you are getting better and better. We can teach you what you need to know to thrive here."

Casey said, "Maybe we can get you into some individual classes...specific topics..."

"He said that. Graham said that. He said he could get me into the Farm or any other program I want. I could take..."

"Some of the NSA tech guys run a bunch of classes on some of the computer stuff," said Casey.

"How to defuse a bomb," said Chuck. Sarah looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Well, think about it. I stopped the countdown on Andric's cell phone, but we had to wait for the bomb squad to defuse the actual bomb. What if I knew how to do it myself? When we thought Bryce's container was a bomb, I was looking inside to see if I could do anything, but if it was a bomb what would I have done? Defusing a bomb would save lives. It would be good. I'd like to learn how to do that."

"I'm sure that Graham could get you into that class or some others you might like. Hell, kid, there's an entire university, the National Intelligence University, with nothing but classes," said Casey. "You can take whatever you want. No need to send you to the Farm to just become an asshole like me and Larkin. You can pick and choose what you study."

They spent most the rest of the drive to Vienna talking about some of the classes Chuck could take if he wanted to.

After checking in to the first-class hotel in the center of the city, they ventured out to a wonderful dinner at a restaurant Sarah knew. They had delicious schnitzel and a couple of bottles of Grüner Veltliner, the renowned local white wine.

After dinner, they began to walk the cold quiet streets of the city to give Chuck a feel for it. They wouldn't have much time for tourism in the morning, and nighttime was not ideal to explore that beautiful city, but they would do what they could. At one point, Chuck froze in place and said, in a whisper, "There's a man in the doorway ahead. I think he's got a submachine gun."

Casey grunted and said, "Yeah. He's a cop." Casey gestured at the building on the other side of the narrow street, the building the cop was facing. "That's the synagogue."

"Ah," said Chuck, feeling a little saddened that such precautions were necessary. He nodded to the cop, standing in the cold doorway as they passed.

They walked for a couple of hours, along the grounds of the beautiful Belvedere Palace with its Baroque architecture, and down to the river to meander along its western bank for a while. Casey commented that it's funny that so many ancient cities are along the Danube. Sarah said, "Not odd at all, Case. Before the internal combustion engine and halfway decent roads, the rivers were the only real highways people had. If you wanted to move goods or people easily, you established yourself along a river. If you think of the rivers as highway systems, the ancient settlements make much more sense. It's one of the reasons Russia has historically been so poor. It's got crappy river systems."

Chuck loved Vienna and vowed to come back to listen to a concert or two someday.

They were up early the next morning and spent an hour lifting weights in the hotel's gym followed by a five kilometer run. Sarah and Casey selected the route of their run to show Chuck more of the city. In the sunshine, the architecture was even more beautiful. After a while, they found the lovely Burggarten park to run through.

After showering and a breakfast of excellent coffee and pastries, they left for the drive to Munich. Chuck was concerned that he was getting spoiled with European coffee and wouldn't appreciate American coffee anymore. He made a mental note to ask Casey what kind of coffee he had at home. The last stop in Vienna was at a gift shop to buy presents for Ellie, Devon and Morgan. Chuck insisted on filling them up with snacks and drinks for the road, and managed to find an adapter so he could play his music through the car's stereo system. For Casey's tastes, he had loaded a wide selection of blues music.

On the E60 outside of Vienna, Casey was driving with Chuck in the passenger seat and Sarah behind. Using an encrypted hotspot standard with the CIA vehicle, Chuck was about to start reviewing the files on Federov. Before he started though, he checked a few things. An email from Ellie which he returned, assuring her that he and Sarah were having fun and staying safe. He went into the email he used to communicate with Yuri and left a message that a $200,000 bonus was coming his way.

Finally, he went to the message board in case Bryce had left a message under a thread about weapons. There it was. A message from Sam Wilson on a thread dealing with the Colt 1911A1, the heavy semi-auto pistol with the stopping power of a large truck. Wilson had posted a picture of the weapon with a review which raved about its characteristics.

"Guys, Bryce reached out. It's the first time. There's a message from him here."

Sarah said, "Let me see." He held the computer up so she could see the screen. "It's just a picture of a gun..."

"Hang on, Sarah. Let me find the message in the picture." Chuck downloaded the picture to his computer, which took a surprisingly long time as the file was very large. Once it was downloaded, he enlarged it on his screen up to its full resolution. Having been taken with the high megapixel camera that Chuck had provided Bryce, even when enlarged to its utmost, the image was very sharp. He began to move around the background of the photo. Prominent in the center of the picture was the pistol sitting on a desk. It was well lit and clear. Looking at the background of the room with the desk, it had been taken in a hotel room and there were the usual signs on the door about checkout times and whatnot (readable because of the resolution of the camera). A sliver of the bathroom was visible through a partially open door. There were some papers on the desk in the corner of the shot. A crumpled up magazine was in the trash can to one side. Chuck spent time looking at those, but found no message. He started through the picture again, moving slowly from top to bottom. There it was. In the mirror of the bathroom, through the partially opened door, there was a short message written reversed, mirror imaged. When he reversed it in his head the message said, "wa' maHvaD loD 'Iv ghung."

He held up the screen for Sarah to see. "You have to reverse it, like a mirror."

She looked at the Klingon sentence and mentally reversed it. She pointed, "I don't know that word."

"Hungry," said Chuck.

"The man who was hungry was one of us," said Sarah. "Who was hungry?"

"Evans," said Chuck. "Bryce couldn't use the proper name for the country, as it wouldn't be translated. So, he used a homonym instead. Evans was Fulcrum."

"Dammit. Well done, Bartowski," said Casey. "Better call Graham."

Chuck did so right away. Graham picked up, "Graham, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. You are on the speaker. I'm in the car with Casey and Sarah. Sir, we have received the first message from Operation Thirty. Evans was Fulcrum."

"Shit. Okay. I got the coroner's report this morning. The man was tortured to death. Pretty brutally. Whoever had him only kept him for a couple of days, but they didn't waste any time. No softening up. Seems they went right for the hard stuff."

"Sir," said Sarah, "It might not have anything to do with Fulcrum. Could have been something else he was working on."

"Yes. You are right, of course. But I need you to send a message back to Operation Thirty. There was a similar murder in Venice last month. A State Department guy at the consulate there. Also tortured to death. We kept it out of the papers. Ask our man if that guy was Fulcrum also. Maybe there's a connection."

"Yes, Sir. I'll do that," said Chuck.

"While I have you, team, you should know that there has been blowback from the bodies found in Budapest. Selenica and his men," said Graham, but he didn't sound angry.

"Oh? What kind of blowback, Sir?" asked Sarah.

"Well, the Hungarians interviewed the prisoners you saved. They couldn't describe any of you, but the man who freed them had explained to them that they would be tranked and freed. Seems he spoke to them in Russian. The Hungarians spoke to the local FSB chief and complained about the Russians operating covert teams inside Hungary, but, at the same time, thanked them for stopping a truck bomb attack and saving lives." He was laughing as he finished the story.

Casey was laughing too. "What did the Russians have to say?" he asked.

"They said, we have no idea what you are talking about and you're welcome." At that, they all started to laugh.

"So that worked out well, I guess," said Chuck.

"Yes, it did," said Graham. "Alright. Thank you for the information on Evans. See if you can find out anything about the Venice guy. Talk to you later, team."

They broke the connection. Chuck went onto the message board and left a message under the name Worf that said, "canal loD 'ej? [And the canal man?]

The drive wasn't particularly scenic, looking like a typical highway for most of the start of the journey. Chuck turned back to begin his research into Federov. He knew there were a number of other wedding guests of interest to his team, but didn't have a list to work through.

He knew that he could use his hacking skills to get the guest list from the hotel's computer, but he had sworn off hacking several years ago. At the time, he had been a wanted man in the United States and several foreign countries (and a few dozen US states as well). He supposed he still was, although he had been quiescent for so long that he thought it likely that all the investigations had been discontinued or labeled inactive. It wasn't the danger that had made him stop. Well, not totally, anyway. He had read in the papers about a man about his own age who had climbed the outside of tall buildings for fun, just because they were there and he had the skills and strength to do it. The news report was that the man had fallen to his death from a building in Hong Kong. Hundreds of buildings climbed without a problem and one tiny mistake ended it. Chuck immediately saw the similarities in their positions. Was the risk still worth the reward? He knew he could do it, hack into any system he wanted. He had proven his abilities to his satisfaction, so why continue? Chuck had made a deal with himself, and those were the hardest deals to break. If Stanford renewed his scholarship for the last year of school, he'd give up the Piranha persona and stop hacking. So, he had stopped hacking. Of course, it all came to nothing when they expelled him, but a deal's a deal.

As the drive continued, it became harder and harder to pay attention to the computer screen in his lap as the scenery went from boring to much more interesting. The Austrian Alps were visible to their left and, although they were on a flat plain, Chuck loved the views to their south. As densely populated as Austria was, there was a lot of snowy farmland for Chuck to contemplate.

They stopped for lunch just a few kilometers off the A8, in the small Austrian city of Ried im Innkreis, finding a small restaurant serving beer and sausage off the tidy main square of the town. Chuck was really enjoying himself and the new experiences at every turn. Sarah seemed to be enjoying his enjoyment, while Casey seemed to be merely tolerant of it.

As they were waiting for their meals to arrive, Sarah said, out of the blue, "I've been thinking. When you stop in DC to teach the class in cracking the phone, I'm going to go with you. I'm going to stay with you in DC."

Chuck grinned, "Great. You can show me around. I've never been to..."

"I'm going to close up my apartment there. Surrender the lease at the end of the month. Ship all the rest of my stuff home, to our home...I'm going to notify the Agency that I'm moving my permanent address to LA," she said, looking at him under her lashes with a small smile.

"You are?" Chuck asked. Surprise quickly gave way to joy, as he realized the implications of what she had said. Even if they got the Intersect out of his head and he was no longer useful as a member of the team, she'd stay. She'd stay in LA. She'd stay with him. She was going to stay. Maybe she'd have to travel a lot on missions and stuff, but all sorts of people traveled for business. She would come back to him. To home. To her home. With him. He thought that his face might break from the grin he was wearing. He could feel the pressure in his eyes and knew he might start crying from happiness at any moment.

"Good idea, Walker," said Casey, nodding sagely and sipping his excellent local beer. "Probably save money. Your housing stipend for staying in LA probably doesn't cover the cost of the DC apartment. Losing the stipend will be more than offset by the rent savings."

"Yeah, Case." By this point, Sarah's grin matched Chuck's and she couldn't look away from the eyes of the man she loved. "That's just what I was thinking. I was just being practical."

She reached for Chuck's hand and held it as they looked deeply into each other's eyes while grinning their faces off.

Casey said, "I'm going to wash my hands before we eat." He got up and left the table. He deliberately didn't look back, certain that there would be kissing happening there.

The highway driving into Munich was smooth and they had made very good time. Given that they were to be under the Carmichael cover in Interlaken, Casey had arranged for them to obtain ski equipment from the Munich NSA office. They met Casey's colleague in the back of a ski shop.

It took almost three hours for the local NSA officer to outfit them with a full complement of ski gear. The most time consuming part was to deal with the bindings on the skis which had to be adjusted for weight, terrain, boot size, and skill levels and the skis themselves sharpened to Casey's somewhat exacting standards. They left the gear in the minivan, as they would be leaving for Switzerland early the next morning.

They checked into a small hotel that Casey knew which had a cozy brauhaus on the groundfloor. Sitting at a table in the restaurant Chuck asked about a large rectangular table in the center of the room with the word "Stammtisch" on a sign on the table. Casey explained, "That's the table for the regulars. It's the established table for them to come and drink from time to time, like a friendly meeting place. The table is reserved for them."

They had a delicious meal washed down with beer made by a local Munich brewery. Chuck determined that he would definitely run in the morning, as the food and drink on this trip was much more than he usually consumed.

After they had eaten, Chuck said, "Guys, I have a question. When Director Graham was talking to Bryce he mentioned a Red Test. And then when you, Sarah, were reporting on Brown you said the action had been his Red Test. What's a Red Test?"

"It's the first time an agent kills someone on the job. It's what we call it," said Sarah.

"Is it a test? A real test? Like you have to pass in order to be a real spy or something?"

"Oh, hell no. Some agents never have to do it. Never face violence on the job. There are people who believe that the best agents never pull their guns. No, that kind of test would be barbaric," said Sarah.

"When it happens, agents can react well, poorly or not at all. There's no decent training we can give to prepare someone for the consequences of doing it for real," said Casey. "With everything going on now, we're getting a lot of combat veterans coming into the business. They've been through it already and can usually handle it just fine. But civilians, who've never had to deal with it, can ...well, it can be tough on them sometimes. Not all the time, of course, people's reactions can vary greatly, but sometimes. That's why Sarah and I sat with Brown Tuesday night..."

"And why you gave him your card. If he wanted to talk," said Chuck. Casey nodded, his mood growing somber. He was clearly thinking about one or more instances in his past.

Sorry that he'd brought the conversation down a bit, Chuck changed topics and said, "There's a juke box over there. I'm going to put on some music."

He moved to the juke box, pulling coins from his pocket as he did. He began to study the music choices when one of the middle-aged men from the stammtisch came to his side.

"You are a visitor?" the man asked in English, also looking at the music selection.

"Yes, just passing through," said Chuck.

"From America?" Chuck nodded. "Where?"

"Los Angeles," said Chuck.

The man's face brightened to a smile and he said, "LA? That's wonderful. I visited my cousin in LA a few years ago. Maybe you know him..Jans Schmidt?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know him," said Chuck, smiling.

"Ah well, it was too much to expect. It's such a big city. What music are you thinking about?" They discussed music for a little longer. Chuck put on a song by the Rough Badgers that the other man approved of. The man stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Ben."

"I'm Chuck. Good to meet you."

When he sat back down, Casey said, "What was that about?"

"Nothing. He was just being friendly," said Chuck.

Shortly, the waitress came over with another round of beers for them. Sarah said, in German, "we didn't order these."

The waitress pointed to the table in the middle of the room, occupied by Ben and his friends. When Sarah, Casey and Chuck looked their way, the men raised their glasses in salute. Chuck, Sarah and Casey raised their beers in turn and, smiling, said, "Danke schöne."

Casey said, "We have to buy them a round."

Sarah said, "Case, it would be a nice thing to do, but it's a terrible idea."

"Walker, it's just polite," he said.

"I know. But if we do that, they are going to invite us to join them. We will start drinking with those guys and, I hate to say it, but I think they are much better at drinking than we are. We will get royally hammered. We're tired. We've been on the road all day. This really might end up really badly."

"It's the right thing to do," said Casey.

Sarah said, "Chuck, back me up here."

Chuck said, "You are right, Sarah. If we buy them a round we will probably sit with them and get very, very drunk. But...I agree with Casey. We should do it."

"Oh, boy," said Sarah with a sigh, signaling for the waitress.

When they got the round of drinks, the seven men at the stammtisch invited them to join them at the table. And they did so. From that point forward the evening was drinking and laughing and drinking and laughing. The men at the table were very good company, even though Chuck and Casey did not speak German and only a few of them spoke decent English. (Sarah was completely fluent in German, of course.) As Sarah had predicted, the men were very accomplished drinkers.

Sometime later, one of the men was saying to Sarah that Chuck understood everything said in German, even if he couldn't speak any. Somehow, as drunk as he was, Chuck understood that. But he saw Casey get up and head, not completely steadily, to the men's room. He gave Sarah a look to indicate that he was going to help his friend.

He found Casey bent over the toilet preparing to puke up the copious quantities of alcohol he had consumed. Casey began to sway slightly and Chuck moved to grab him to steady him. Before Chuck could do so, Casey reached out with his left hand to grab a nearby pipe. There was a hissing sound and he pulled his hand away from the live steam pipe. Looking down at his hand he said to Chuck, with a certain amount of good humor, "You know, Chuck, if I was sober this would hurt like a bitch."

Unlike the morning in Vienna, the morning in Munich was not begun with exercise. They headed directly for coffee, and a lot of it. None of them had much appetite and they were speaking in very quiet voices, when they talked at all. At one point, Casey looked down at his left hand and said, "Guys, why does my hand hurt?"

Chuck took most of the driving duty on the road between Munich and Interlaken. With a stop for lunch it was almost seven hours of mountain driving through some of the most spectacular scenery Chuck had ever seen. It wasn't too long outside of Munich that they found themselves in the Bavarian Alps. Chuck had expected the mountains to be beautiful, but the real thing was vastly beyond his expectations. The sharp peaks, snow covered sides, Alpine lakes glittering blue, terrifying drop offs down sheer cliffs, and cozy mountain chalets were all postcard vistas. One after another they were spectacular.

It was the last turn that really took his breath away. Their destination, the town of Interlaken, came into view suddenly. As befits its name, it was nestled between two lakes. Chuck had looked at the map before starting out and he remembered that the lake to the west was Thunersee and the lake to the east was Brienzersee, each lake a long rough oval running away from the town. The dark blue of the waters was set off by the white of the snow on the rugged mountains rising on all sides from the dual lakes. The sun was setting early in the mountains and the lights of the town were already sparkling against the water. He could see tiny moving spots on the mountainsides, as the last skiers of the day made their way down.

The hotel was a huge old extravagant affair. Starched bellman in overcoats met their car and took the baggage and a valet took the car. Making their way across the luxurious lobby to the check in desk, Casey and Sarah spotted at least three Russians and their dates moving around the area.

As they were checking in the formal desk clerk told them, "Ah yes, the Carmichael party. Excellent. Welcome. The first member of your party arrived this morning. Very good." Chuck and Sarah looked at each other with confusion. Casey merely looked enigmatic.

Once at their suite, the bellman knocked on the door. The door opened and Amy Turner said, with her characteristic exuberance and a huge smile, "Hi, guys. You miss me?"

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A/N2: Spotting the cop with the gun across from the synagogue happened to me one winter's night in Vienna. It's a sad commentary indeed.

A/N3: Steve, Mark, if you read this and shudder at the description of the stammtisch in the Munich brauhaus and the memories (or lack thereof) that it brings back, sorry, guys. It was too good a story to pass by.


	74. Chapter 74

A/N: I never get bored of discussing ownership of Chuck. Awright...maybe sometimes.

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Sarah was furious, "Just what the hell did you think you were doing, Casey? You had no right to do this behind our backs. Why didn't you tell us what you had in mind?"

"In order to avoid this conversation until it was too late for you to stop it," said Casey without raising his voice at all. He sat calmly on the couch in the hotel suite with his legs crossed and one arm resting on the back of the couch cushions while Sarah and Chuck stood facing him. He was clearly just going to let her anger burn itself out.

"You knew we would object and you went ahead and brought her onto the team anyway," accused Sarah.

"Well, not her in particular. That was Graham's choice. But, yes, I arranged for a woman to join the team in case we had another seduction mission to run. I made the call to Graham soon after we got back from Vegas."

After the tense greeting of CIA Agent Amy Turner, Amy had noted the surprise of two thirds of the team and the resultant strained atmosphere. She had quickly excused herself to the hotel's lobby to give them a chance to talk amongst themselves. Chuck had run a quick scan of the suite to make sure there were no wireless microphones and then the excrement had hit the fan.

"I can still run seduction missions. The Kirk thing was an aberration," Sarah said with certainty.

"Nope. You puked on the guy. Not exactly in the bag of tricks of any porn star I've ever seen," said Casey.

"Case, Sarah is right. I just went on a whole thing that my going to the Farm was a team decision. That's what we do. We make decisions together. We don't go wandering off on our own. This decision affects us all," said Chuck.

"Sorry, Bartowski. No good. You'd have taken the position that Sarah can continue to do seduction missions, even though it was ripping your guts out. You would have been so concerned that she not see you as a possessive controlling boyfriend, that you'd have forced yourself to go along with something that you fucking hated. So, I saved you the agony of the decision. I'd have been outvoted, even though I'm right. Your relationship is screwing up your logic here." Sarah took a breath to vehemently deny that accusation, but Casey raised a hand for her to stop. "It is, Sarah. Think about it. You're both trying so hard to bend over backwards to show me and everybody else that your relationship with each other has no effect whatsoever on your ability to do your work, that you can't see it straight. It's just not that complicated. Of course, it has an effect on your work. Of course, it does. And naturally so. Be totally weird if it didn't. It's a part of you both, for God's sake. No mystery behind it and no criticism can be made. Seduction missions are off the table for you. For Bartowski too, if the situation were ever reversed. Sorry, that's just the way it is. Anyway, it's done now. Turner's on the team," said Casey.

"Casey, I mean it. She's not necessary. I can still do those sorts..."

"Sarah, how many married agents do those missions? Huh? How many? How about none? No married agents are sent to do that. None. It's a stupid idea. And when their spouse is another spy on the same team? That's totally absurd. It's a recipe for disaster." Casey was still speaking calmly, but there was no mistaking his certainty.

"Well, we're not married," Sarah said, but by this point her objection sounded half-hearted even to her. Casey just looked at her and rolled his eyes with an expression of exasperation.

With a heavy sigh, Chuck said, "Sarah, we can make it work. It won't change the relationship that the three of us have. Casey isn't altogether wrong here. It's done. We just have to deal with it now. Getting all twisted up about how it happened isn't helpful."

Sarah sighed and said, "Alright. But I still think you should have talked to us about it, Case."

"Noted," he said. He was clearly not going to admit that he had done anything wrong in taking this matter into his own hands, so it was time to move on. Casey said, "I'll go down to the lobby and bring her back up. We can give her a proper greeting this time around."

Casey left the suite. Chuck said to Sarah, "His heart was in the right place, Sweetie. He wanted to keep you from having to do more … of that kind of stuff."

"I know, but he still should have talked to us about it," she said. She didn't sound as angry as she had at first. Seemingly, she was accepting the new status quo.

Shortly, Amy arrived with Casey. She grinned at them and said, with a little bit of a flounce, "I'll try again. Hi, guys. You miss me?"

Sarah said, smiling, "Sorry for the frosty reception, Amy. Your addition to the team came as a bit of a surprise to some of us. Now that you are here, welcome."

Amy reached out and gave Sarah a hug, and said with a smile, "No worries at all, Sarah. I think I figured that out."

Chuck reached out and took her hand, "Hi, Amy. Welcome aboard."

"Thanks, Chuck. Good to be here. So, first off," she started to giggle a bit, "You guys should know this. This team has the rep, among the rank and file anyway, as way way beyond varsity, totally all-star. Off the charts all-star. The rep that you guys have is crazy good. There isn't an agent working who wouldn't give his or her right arm to join you guys...to be part of this team. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that Graham picked me for this opportunity. This may be the most exciting thing to happen to me since I left training...no offense to the CATS, Sarah."

Chuckling softly, Sarah said, a little embarrassed, "Thanks, Amy, but you'll see we are just normal agents here. Putting on pants one leg at a time..."

"Not Casey," said Chuck with a gesture at his partner. "He just looks at his pants sternly and they climb onto his body in terror."

"Shut up, Moron," growled Casey. Amy looked at Casey and Chuck with a bit of alarm.

Sarah said, "Ignore them. They actually love each other."

Amy said, "Ok. As I understand my place here, you and Carmichael are an item and that makes it awkward if any seduction missions pop up. So, no worries. I have that stuff covered. Otherwise, I'm to take your orders. That about right?"

"Yeah, that's almost right. Thanks. I think you'll find that we aren't too formal when it comes to leaders and orders and things like that. Generally, we tend to talk a lot of stuff out. You'll have an equal voice."

"Great," said Amy with a happy grin. "Barry was kind of bossy." She seemed to bounce a little in place and said, "I'm so excited."

"Have you eaten yet?" asked Chuck.

"Nope. I was waiting for you guys to arrive," said Amy.

"Ok. We haven't either. Let's order room service and I can give the team a download on the target while we eat. I've done the research over the last couple of days," said Chuck.

They ordered quickly. Amy put her bags into the room with two beds, one for her and one for Casey, while Chuck and Sarah put their bags into the room with a single larger bed. While they were waiting for the food Chuck set up the large TV to receive the feed from his computer.

The food arrived and they settled down to eat in front of the screen as Chuck pulled up a picture of Victor Federov.

"Ok, guys, this is Victor Federov, the groom. Congratulations, Mr. Federov. He is also an arms dealer, an ex-member of Russian organized crime, and a successful Russian oligarch. He was born in 1961 in Stalingrad, Russia along the Volga River. Not too long after his birth, the city was re-named Volgograd. He passed through high school there and we don't have anything in the files about those years. He served in the Army in the late 70's early 80's and, so far as we can tell, was unexceptional. The file really starts in the 80's when he's sent to prison for blackmarket activities. He's released just before glasnost and perestroika change the Soviet Union beyond recognition. That brings us to the chaos of the 90's. He seems to have been running a small group of mobsters in Moscow and to have taken advantage of the mayhem of those years to climb the ladder of capitalist success. He had connections with the former Red Army, which was coming apart. He got his hands on military hardware and began to peddle it overseas, particularly in Africa. He quickly developed some excellent connections there and sold what he could. Not to the African governments, though, mostly to rebel groups."

"The rebels, huh? How does he get paid then?" asked Casey.

"Blood diamonds, usually washed through Amsterdam," said Chuck.

"So African customers? Like Volkoff?" asked Sarah.

"Volkoff sells to the governments down there, but otherwise, yeah, like Volkoff. Definitely smaller scale," said Chuck.

"Who's Volkoff?" asked Amy.

"Russian arms dealer. A big one. We learned a little about him on our last mission. Anyway, Volkoff seems to have branched out into production...R&D, that sort of thing. Federov doesn't have the imagination for that. He's still selling old Soviet stuff...high end Soviet stuff, mind you, but the old stuff anyway. As time went on, Federov got into other businesses too. In addition to selling the military hardware, he started to sell trucks. The really rugged kind that can accomplish miracles in horrible terrain. He got an overseas distribution license for the BelAZ, a Belarus made truck company that is still considered the maker of one of the most versatile and useful heavy duty all-terrain trucks. Very successful in Africa, but also Asia. He hasn't slowed down the arms sales, just added this new element."

"Probably to wash the arms money," said Casey.

"Yeah, that's likely," said Chuck. "He's been married once," the picture on the screen changed to that of an attractive brunette woman. "His first wife drowned in a boating accident while they were vacationing on a yacht in the Aegean. No kids." The picture changed to a somewhat blurry shot of a brunette woman with her hair obscuring part of her face. "This is Sunday's bride, Mara Ivanov. No decent pictures of her seem to be available."

"Good luck, Mara," said Amy, who had been listening with intelligent attention, her bubbly-party-girl persona in temporary abeyance.

"Yeah," said Chuck. "Good luck. Now here's the weird thing. I can't find anything in the files about her. Not in the US files anyway. Nothing in the open source stuff like newspapers...at least not until she started to make the papers on his arm. They seem to have been dating for about 18 months. They made the gossip and society columns in Moscow occasionally. She's got a normal social media presence...Facebook.. that kind of thing, dating back a few years. I can't find a ton of stuff about her, though, except that she was...is, I guess...a florist."

The picture on the screen changed to that of a middle aged man, mostly balding. Slender with high cheek bones. "Different story here. This is Feliks Oblonsky. He seems to have grown up with Federov in Volgograd. From the moment Federov got out of prison, Oblonsky has been at his right hand. He's the best man on Sunday. They seem to be inseparable. From what we can tell, Federov doesn't make any decisions without Oblonsky.

"A lot of the information we are seeing comes from what the French shared with us. They seem to be the most interested in Federov. Seems he's been arming rebels in Ivory Coast and pissing off the French."

"Yeah," said Sarah. "They tend to take an interest in their former colonies. They get pretty annoyed when people mess with them."

"So, here's the weird thing about Federov. I don't have a good explanation for it. None of the analysts do. He's throwing this huge wedding here in Switzerland. Invited a whole bunch of people. Whole big thing. Weird thing is...he's broke."

"What?" asked Sarah, surprised.

"Yup. So far as I can tell he's pretty much lost all his money. Over the last year...nine months, maybe he's made a series of business deals all of which have been disasters. One after the other. He invested in three new companies, all of which went out of business. He leveraged his license to sell the BelAZ and lost it to the bank. He had to sell his real estate at rock bottom prices...a penthouse in Moscow, a dacha on the Black Sea, a shopping mall and hotel in Volgograd...all of it. And then he lost those funds in another terrible investment. Whoever has been giving him investment advice should be fired, because this has been a really bad year for the guy."

"Advisers like that don't get fired in the circles that Federov runs in. They get buried," growled Casey.

"Yeah," agreed Sarah.

"I wonder if his friends here for the wedding know that he's on his ass?" asked Amy.

"Or his wife-to-be," added Sarah.

"Don't know," said Chuck.

"How much are we talking about?" asked Casey.

"Tough to answer that, but the CIA analysts were using a number around half a billion," answered Chuck.

"Dollars, Euros, or Rubles?" asked Amy.

"Dollars," said Chuck.

"Real money," said Sarah. "Guy like this, I'll bet he's scheming to make it back. Probably got something big in the works...make the big score. These guys don't just give up and accept mediocrity."

"Well, whatever he has in the works...we aren't the only ones who want to figure it out. Graham told us there are more Western intelligence officers here than wedding guests, so I suppose everyone is keeping an eye on him. See what he tries to pull next," said Casey.

"Makes sense," said Chuck.

"Ok, guys. Anything else, Chuck?" asked Sarah. Chuck shook his head 'no' and began to put away his computer. "Time to go to work. Let's head down to the lobby and see what we can see."

They pushed the room service cart into the hallway and headed to the hotel's elegant lobby. The lobby was white marble and dark wood, with overstuffed armchairs and crystal lighting. There was a raucous crowd in the bar speaking loud Russian.

With a small smile, Amy said quietly, "Batter up." She went directly into the crowd of Russian men, giggling and grinning. Before they knew it, she was downing a shot of vodka.

Chuck spotted something in the small hotel store off to the side and excused himself for a moment, leaving Sarah and Casey alone.

Sarah said, somewhat hesitantly, "Casey, I know I jumped your shit upstairs. I want to apologize. I realize you were just protecting Chuck. I know he was ….unhappy with the Kirk thing and I know you're just making sure that he doesn't have to face that again. So, thank you. I trust you to look out for him. But please don't' tell him that I said so. I don't want him to feel guilty about my not doing those seduction missions anymore."

Casey just grunted as Chuck returned from his errand, tucking something into a pocket of his jacket.

The three of them followed Amy into the bar and found a spot to stand near the Russian patrons. Sarah and Casey were listening to the men and women chat in Russian. Skiing. Drinking. Amy and who might score with her that evening. More skiing. The wedding. Federov. His soon-to-be wife and her beauty. Sarah and which of the men she was with was her man. Some of the women in the group had some catty things to say about Amy. More skiing. Neither Sarah nor Casey let on that they spoke Russian and understood the conversation, but if this crowd was going to start spilling the secrets of the Russian mob they were apparently not going to do it in public.

They'd have to come up with a better plan to scope out this group. Casey had brought a collection of bugs and other eavesdropping equipment from the NSA's Munich office. Tomorrow when the guests were skiing, they would plant them in the rooms, starting with Federov himself.

Chuck found himself getting sleepy. He'd been driving all day. He didn't understand the Russian conversations that they were listening to, so he started to zone out a bit. When he'd finished his drink, he told Casey and Sarah that he was heading up to bed. Sarah said that she'd go with him. Casey agreed to stay to keep an eye on Amy.

After Chuck and Sarah had left, Amy kept flirting with the Russians for another half hour or so, but eventually even she was ready to call it a night as well. A few of the men were disappointed that they wouldn't be taking Amy up to their rooms, but several of the women were just as happy to see her go.

Casey joined her and they crossed the lobby together to the elevators.

They stood waiting in the elevator lobby for the next car to arrive. There was a 'bing' noise and the elevator door opened. Federov and his bride-to-be stepped out. Casey and Mara Ivanov stopped dead in their tracks and stared at each other in shock.


	75. Chapter 75

A/N: If Federov had owned Chuck in 2007, he'd have lost it with the other awful business deals he engaged in that year.

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Casey stood perfectly still, rooted in place with shock, his mind blank. He was looking at a ghost. He didn't, of course, believe in ghosts, but there was one right there in front of him. This was a woman who had died. He had mourned her. He had cried for her. He made a point of getting drunk every year on the anniversary of her death.

But she was standing in front of him, looking back at him with shock, similarly frozen in place. She looked just a beautiful as she had in his memories. Her blue/gray eyes still held the passion and intelligence that had captivated him four years ago. Only now, they showed a complicated mix of recognition and dread. Her lips were still full, her legs still long and graceful.

Federov looked at his fiancee with confusion, maybe with a bit of concern. He looked back and forth between Casey and the woman he knew as Mara. Amy was doing the same thing. But neither Casey nor Mara had broken from the strange paralysis they found themselves in.

Amy immediately recognized that Federov was their target and whatever was happening between Casey and the woman could jeopardize any operation they might intend to mount against him. She had to break contact until she could figure out what the hell was going on. She shook Casey's arm and said, "Come on, honey. Enough vodka for you. Let's leave these nice people alone tonight and get you upstairs to bed." Turning to Federov, she said in a chipper voice, "G'night."

Still a little puzzled, and focused on Mara and Casey, Federov said in English, "Yes. Good night." Federov and Mara moved out of the elevator and Casey and Amy moved in, Amy just about pulling Casey by the arm. Casey had managed to look away from Mara by then, and was staring at the floor expressionlessly.

The doors closed and the elevator car began its ascent. Amy said, "Casey, what the hell was that about? I don't know what that story was, but Federov is going to remember us for a long time to come. Do you know the woman? Ivanov? You looked like you knew her. Like you were surprised to see her."

Casey didn't respond. He looked at Amy, but didn't really see her. He still seemed stunned and moved as if on auto-pilot. Amy wasn't at all sure what the hell was going on.

When they entered the suite she said, "Sarah." Sarah came out of her bedroom in a hotel robe. "We came face to face with Federov and the Ivanov woman he's marrying. Casey and the woman froze when they saw each other. It was bizarre. I got us away from them, but Casey's not talking."

He was still staring into the middle distance. Sarah said, "Casey. Casey," he finally looked her way. "What's up? What's going on?"

Amy said, "Come on, big guy. What's up? Tell us about the Ivanov woman. Did you sleep with her once, is that it?"

Casey's eyes flared with sudden anger at the question and he growled harshly, "Stop it. Just stop." He spun away from them and stepped out of the hotel suite onto the adjacent balcony.

Chuck had been watching from the door of his bedroom, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and concern for his friend. He and Sarah held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Then Chuck said, "I got this."

Less than a minute later Chuck quietly stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. The view south from Interlaken of the snow covered Alps was spectacular in the moonlight. Front and center among the peaks was the Eiger, with its sharp sheer north face looking like it had been roughly carved out from a larger conical mountain. As awesome as the view was, Chuck ignored it. He dropped Casey's jacket on the chair behind his friend and shrugged into his own jacket against the night cold. Casey was standing and looking out at the mountains, his big hands on the balcony railing. He wasn't moving and he wasn't making a sound.

Chuck sat down in the other chair silently, feeling the cold metal under his legs. A few months ago, Chuck would have peppered Casey with questions about the Ivanov woman. His curiosity and enthusiasm would have pulled question after question out of him. Chuck wasn't quite that man anymore and he had a much better feel for Casey at this point in their relationship. He didn't know what the older man needed, but he knew better than to ape Amy and try to interrogate Casey. What he did know was that his friend, one of his best friends in the world, was going through something bad. Chuck was going to be there for him, whatever that meant. At the moment it meant just literally being there.

Chuck took a Costa Gravan cigar out of his coat pocket and clipped the end off with a small cigar cutter he'd purchased in the lobby store with the cigar. He put the cigar in his mouth, tasting the bite of the quality tobacco. Taking a disposable lighter from his pocket, he spent almost a full minute getting the cigar lit, battling the wind and rotating the cigar over the flame until he had it pulling clean and burning evenly. Once it was burning to his satisfaction, he nudged Casey's arm. When Casey turned his head, Chuck held out the burning cigar to him. Casey took it and put it into his mouth, drawing in smoke as he did so.

Chuck spent the next couple of minutes getting a second cigar out and lit. By the time Chuck had his own cigar burning, Casey had donned his ski jacket against the cold as well.

They sat together silently on the balcony, smoking cigars and looking at the grandeur of the Swiss Alps. Chuck lost track of how much time passed, but his cigar was more than half gone before Casey spoke.

His breath misting in the cold night air, looking like a wispy imitation of the cigar smoke, Casey said, his voice quiet and much softer than normal, "I met her in a flower market. In Rome. I can tell you that Ilsa, that's her name...the name I knew her by, anyway...Ilsa Trinchina...she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She was an AP photographer originally from Russia but living in Paris. I was in Rome on a stopover between missions. I told her I was an energy consultant. I thought it would be a quick fling, just a long weekend kind of thing...but...but it wasn't. When I had to head out on the next mission, we stayed in touch. She was traveling the world too. One war-zone, one hot-spot after another. Sometimes we could meet, but sometimes we just spoke on the phone. I knew it wasn't ...you know...permanent. My job...her job...could take either of us away. You know? It was what it was and there was nothing that was going to change that. I wasn't going to let myself develop feelings for her. Not like what you and Sarah have for each other. That's not for me...not any more...not...anyway... We managed to get together in person a half dozen times over about nine months. Then, it'll be four years ago in April, we were together in Grozny, in Chechnya. The insurgency was heating up there. Both of us keeping an eye on things, her for AP, me for the NSA. There was a terrorist bombing at a store. She was killed along with everyone else in the store at the time."

Casey was silent for a long while after that. Chuck hadn't spoken once since coming out onto the balcony. Finally, he said, quietly, "Except that she wasn't."

"Except that she wasn't," said Casey in little more than a whisper, staring at the glowing end of his cigar. He sat quietly for another minute or two and then stood up and threw the cigar stub off the balcony into the snow below. "Come on, kid. Let's go talk to the rest of the team."

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Victor Federov held the door to the hotel suite open for Mara and followed her inside.

Speaking in Russian, he said, softly, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

With her back to him, taking off her earrings at the dressing table, she said, "About what?"

"The man at the elevator. The man who startled you so badly. The man whose very look gave you a headache and brought you back to the room here early. That man."

Mara turned around and said, with love in her voice, "Oh, Victor, I'm so sorry we had to leave your friends early. I know you wanted to spend time with them. You didn't have to come with me just because I wasn't feeling well. I wouldn't mind if you stayed or went back downstairs. I know you like to drink and laugh. It's one of the things I love about you. You have so much stress in your life, I love to see you relax."

Federov chuckled mirthlessly, and said, "No, my love. I want to be with you. But that was a masterful job of avoiding the question I asked."

Mara looked temporarily confused, then her gaze cleared, "Oh, that man? I have no idea. I was startled because he was so rude to stare at me like that. Very uncultured. It made me uncomfortable. I have no idea who he was, but I hope I don't see him around here too often. I don't think I like him."

Watching her closely, with intelligent eyes, Federov said, "Ah, well at least that's past us now. We'll try to keep out of that pig's way." He shrugged. "Do you want me to have some of the boys speak to him? Maybe suggest that he find another hotel?"

"Oh, no. That's not necessary. We can't have your men beat up everyone who is rude. They would spend all their time punching people. It's not that big a deal. I've forgotten about it already," she said.

"I'm so glad." He reached out and brushed his hand gently down her cheek. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better now?" There was nothing but warmth in his voice.

"Why yes, there is, my Cossack stallion. I'm so glad you asked," she said with a lascivious grin, mischief dancing in her eyes. She moved into his arms and kissed him passionately, her mouth open and her tongue seeking entrance to his. Her hands were undoing his belt as his arms came around her back and pulled her into a strong embrace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Amy said, "So, she faked her own death?"

"Or, it was faked without her knowledge at the time," said Sarah.

"Or it was a real explosion and she ended up with amnesia," suggested Chuck.

"No amnesia," said Amy. "She recognized Casey. No question. She was as shocked as he was."

"So, what's her game?" asked Sarah. "Why not acknowledge him?"

"Who knows?" said Casey. "There's clearly something else happening here."

"Maybe she's a conwoman," suggested Sarah. "Out to get his money."

"Boy, won't she be disappointed?" said Chuck.

"Maybe she's a spy and it's a seduction mission," said Amy.

"A year and a half? Jeez, that sucks," said Sarah.

"But for which side?" asked Casey. "She could be FSB for all we know."

"Or she could have been FSB when she was with you and is now retired and in love," said Sarah.

"All we know is she's using the Mara Ivanov name now," said Chuck.

"That could be her real name. Maybe Trinchina was the fake name," said Sarah.

"Maybe they are both fake and her name is something else entirely," said Chuck.

"True," said Casey.

They fell silent for a few moments. Finally, Chuck said, "Guys, we're running around in circles. The only things we know for sure are.." He began to count on raised fingers. "The woman was once known as Ilsa Trinchina and is now known as Mara Ivanov, she knew Casey four years ago, she recognized him today, she didn't die in an explosion in Grozny, and she is marrying Federov on Sunday. Anything else we are doing is just speculation. We don't even know if this has anything to do with our assignment here. Maybe it goes in the report to Langley, maybe it doesn't. I don't know. Casey, until we know more, I'm deferring to you on that one." Casey nodded to Chuck. "The truth is, we don't have enough information to draw any real conclusions. We need more facts before we can say anything meaningful."

"You're right, kid," said Casey. "We are just playing with ourselves here."

"Ok. We'll sleep on it. It's late. I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. It was a long night last night," said Sarah.

"But fun," said Chuck with a smile.

"Yeah," said Sarah. "Fun. Night, Case. Night, Amy."

"Night, guys. I know I've only been on the team for a few hours, but this is already more fun than I ever had with Barry," said Amy with a giggle.

Chuck and Sarah went into their room and closed the door.

Amy and Casey moved into their room. Casey was giving Amy first crack at the bathroom, but before she did so, she put a soft hand on his arm and said, "I'm sorry, Casey. About Ilsa. I'm sorry."

He nodded and grunted appreciatively.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Victor Federov was laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Had he been allowed to smoke in the hotel, he'd have been smoking. He wasn't allowed to and it was too cold to step out onto the balcony to light up, so he just wished silently for a cigarette.

He was in the big bed in the dark hotel room and listening to Mara snore lightly. He twisted his head to look at her. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips soft, her dark hair mussed. She was so very beautiful, but that was only a small part of the reason he loved her.

When his first wife Nadia had died it had almost broken him. If not for the strong support of Feliks, he might have just given up. He hadn't been back to Greece since and might never go again. He'd been alone for so long before that, climbing the ladder of success in the vicious world that he'd inhabited. The murders, the betrayals, the complicated deals and double crosses. All that money. He had found that the numbers in his bank accounts had long ago lost all meaning to him. The money was the measure of success in his world. A sign that he was a winner at the game. But it really didn't matter beyond that, because until he'd met Nadia he'd been alone.

He didn't think, at the time of her death, that he'd ever love again. He'd limited himself to the Russian prostitutes sent his way. They were skilled and accomplished at their jobs, but he didn't care about them in the slightest, not any more than they had cared about him. Their company was merely to scratch a physical itch. Even when with them, he was alone again.

Until he'd met Mara. She was a new hire in the local flower shop that he passed daily near his Moscow apartment. As he walked from his garage with his bodyguards, she had smiled at him. The next day, when she smiled again, he had stopped and bought flowers for his apartment. The day after that, he'd stopped and bought flowers for her. She'd laughed – God, her laugh had sounded just like music - and said she couldn't accept flowers from him. He took her that night to the most expensive restaurant in the city. She was shy and made him court her. Too often golddigging women chased him, but not Mara. He had to pursue her.

On the outside, everyone could see her beauty, but her beauty on the inside she only let certain people see. Her kindness and gentleness. Her dry sense of humor that always made him laugh and found the absurdities in every situation. Her fierce intelligence. She could analyze a passage from a book better than a university professor. Her passion. The little furrow in her brow when she was concentrating and the little smile she gave him when she caught him staring at her. It was a quirk of her personality that she never talked about her past. She never volunteered her history or family life. She was a mystery to him. He didn't mind and didn't press her. He knew she had a life before she'd met him. If she wanted to keep that to herself, that was her business. It drove Feliks insane, but Federov trusted her. He loved her and that brought with it his trust.

The man in the lobby was doubtless a prior lover and she was embarrassed to say so. He would mention it to Feliks in the morning and Feliks could look into the man. Just to make sure that he did not mean Mara any harm.


	76. Chapter 76

A/N: We've got to stop talking about ownership of Chuck. Or not.

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The slopes up the Alps to the south of Interlaken were too steep for a regular train. Mere friction between the train wheels and the rails alone would not keep the cars moving in the right uphill direction no matter the power of the engine. For that reason, the train used a cogwheel system. With toothed wheels engaging with frames between the rails themselves, the train pulled the skiers up the mountain to Kleine Scheidegg. Feliks Oblonsky and Victor Federov, carrying their ski gear, shuffled out of the train station with the other skiers and moved to the snow, intending to head down the mountain to the town of Wengen. Two bulky bodyguards followed them at a discreet distance.

The rugged, sharp peaks of the Jungfrau region framed the sky over their shoulders, the Eiger, the Schwarzhorn, the Monch, and, of course, the Jungfrau itself, among a score of others. The day was bright and sunny, made even more so by the sun's reflection off the white snow. Both men were wearing sunglasses against the glare. The sky was as blue and cloudless as could possibly be hoped for, but it was nevertheless quite cold. As Russians, the cold didn't bother them at all. They well knew how to dress for it.

Federov stepped into his ski bindings, which locked into place on his boots with satisfyingly solid clicks, and, speaking in Russian, said to his friend, "Try to keep up, old man."

"You see my ass? That's the only thing you will see of me on the slopes," Oblonsky replied with a grin.

They pushed off and began to ski down the mountain. Federov loved the excitement of skiing. The demands of the mountain and the terrain took his mind away from all his concerns. It was impossible to worry about work while skiing. His mind emptied of all but the next turn, the high jump following that, the tree line on his right and the sweeping left turn he made to come back to the center of the trail. He carved long smooth curves atop the snow, working hard, but enjoying every moment. As always when he was having a good run, he found himself grinning, the wind numbing his cheeks.

At a turn in the trail, a natural stopping point, he and Oblonsky stopped to catch their breath. It was the first time they had been alone outside of the hotel all morning. The bodyguards had stopped about a hundred meters up the slope.

"So, tell me, old man, how's the plan going?" Federov asked.

"No concerns so far, Victor. As we predicted, if your presence wasn't reason enough, the guest list seems to have drawn all the Western intelligence agencies to the event. The hotel is crawling with spies. Every one of them looking at us and our friends. Listening devices are everywhere throughout the building. Every time you fart, they are listening in Langley and Paris." They had agreed to only talk business on the ski slopes. It was the only place in the area where they could be reasonably sure that their conversations were private.

"And Boris is listening to them, of course," said Federov.

"Of course. He's broken the encryption on almost all of their wireless devices, so what they hear, we hear."

"But, of course, they aren't actively listening to each other, so we don't get that insight," said Federov.

"No, but the lobby, the bar, the other guests...it's a lot," said Oblonsky.

"Any indication that they know what's coming?"

"No. Nothing," replied Oblonsky.

"And the bodies? The car?"

"All pre-staged. We are using a small garage building. Only one road in and out, so it's easy to observe and control."

"Good. What do we hear with our friends? The wedding guests?"

Oblonsky laughed, "You mean other than that some of them have some very kinky tastes in the privacy of their hotel rooms?" Both men laughed. "The only thing of interest is the speculation about your finances. They all know you are broke and wonder how and why you are throwing the big wedding."

"So, that part worked, I guess," said Federov.

"Well, these men are not the forensic accountants that the Western nations will put on the job, but...yes, so far so good."

"Good. So, it sounds like all good news. You should be proud of yourself. Now, there's one other thing, Feliks. Mara recognized a man in the hotel lobby last night. They recognized each other. She lied to me about knowing him.." Oblonsky took a breath to say something, but Federov stopped him with a raised hand. "I know...I know, Feliks...we've been over this countless times. I know what you are going to say. Take it as said, alright?" With a grimace, Oblonsky nodded his head reluctantly. "I just need you to look at him. I'm sure he's just an old lover of hers and she's embarrassed to tell me. I need to make sure he's not going to be a problem for her."

"Of course, my friend. Who is he?"

"I don't have a name for him. Seems to be American. Short brown hair and blue eyes. With a pretty, dumb blonde on his arm. He's a big man, somewhat below two meters, and tough looking. Like he can handle himself in a fight," said Federov. "Maybe ex-military."

"I'll have Boris pay particular attention, Victor," said Oblonsky.

"Thank you. Now let's see how well you can do on the rest of the mountain," said Federov with a grin, slapping his old friend on the shoulder.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were having breakfast in the hotel restaurant and trying to listen to the conversations at the nearby tables. At least Casey and Sarah were, as they were the only two members of the team who spoke Russian. Amy excused herself from the table for a few minutes and returned from the lobby with a list of the wedding guests and their room numbers. "How'd you get that?" asked Chuck. Amy just smiled at him and gave him an exaggerated bat of her blue eyes.

He chuckled. "With the list of rooms, we can start to put Casey's gear into them. See what we can figure out," he said.

"Yeah, kid. Maybe you and I can do that while the guests are all out skiing. Sarah, what do you think of you and Amy hitting the slopes and seeing what there is to see with the Russians out there? The wedding itself isn't until tomorrow."

"Fine with me. If you guys finish early you can come join us," said Sarah.

"Roger that," said Casey.

"I don't really know how to ski," said Chuck, a little embarrassed.

"Oh, I can teach you, Sweetie. You'll have so much fun," said Sarah. "It's a sport we can do together back home too."

Chuck grinned at her. He loved it when she said "home."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After Amy and Sarah left to go skiing and mingle with the Russian wedding guests on the mountains nearby, Casey and Chuck began to enter the guest's hotel rooms and plant listening devices. To Casey's amusement, the best places to install such devices were often already taken by other similar devices. And the second best places. There were a lot of folks listening in on this wedding.

As hard as he tried, and he was very disciplined, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to Ilsa. Who was she really? What was she doing here? How'd she end up marrying a Russian arms dealer? Why had she faked her death in Grozny? Why had she not acknowledged him last night? He kept poking at the questions, but, at the same time, he was marveling at how good she'd looked. How many wonderful memories he had of them together. Every time he went down that path, he had to shake himself to break that train of thought. For the most part, Chuck was refraining from his usual chatter.

They were between rooms and making their way down a corridor when Chuck said, "I had bought the cigars to give to you as a peace offering last night."

"Peace offering? For what?" asked Casey.

"For my being mad at you for bringing Amy onto the team. To protect Sarah from having to do any more seduction missions. I know you were just looking out for her and I really do appreciate it. I can't really let her know that I agree with you though, so please don't tell her I said so. But, thanks."

"Don't mention it, kid," said Casey.

Inside, Casey was amused. Sarah thanked him for protecting Chuck and now Chuck thanked him for protecting Sarah, but neither wanted the other to know how they felt. That, in itself, was pretty funny. The part that really tickled him, though, was the fact that they were both wrong about why he had done it. He wasn't really protecting either of them. Honestly, he thought of it as protecting himself. When Sarah had been with Kirk Chuck had been clearly agitated and upset. He, Casey, had significant training and experience hiding his emotions, so Chuck wasn't reading his state of mind. In fact, Casey had wanted to bust in on Kirk and Sarah and break every single bone the man had one at a time. It was only his professionalism that had stopped him. Sarah had proven to be the best partner he'd ever had. Over the last few months the bond that had formed between them, all three of them, was deep. The idea of her having to tolerate that seduction crap was flat-out unacceptable to him. She had warned them early on to avoid chivalry where she was concerned and he, mostly, had managed to do so. But the seduction stuff...well, he had his limits for chrissakes. Another woman spy? Not Sarah? Carina? Amy? Fine, whatever. Sarah Walker? Nope, he wouldn't have it. That's the real reason he had arranged for another woman to be on the team. But if both Sarah and Chuck thought he did it to protect the other, that was fine too. Let them think so.

They had one last stop, in the main server room of the hotel. They could have set up to watch the hotel's security cameras from there, but instead of that Chuck had worked up a discrete computer relay that would transmit all of the information through the hotel's phone lines directly to his computer in their room. They could watch in real-time all the security cameras and playback whatever they wanted later.

Coming to the server room, they checked up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone, then opened the door and stepped inside.

Six eyes looked up at them. It was a very crowded little room. Chuck found he had to squeeze in sort of sideways. His hip was against one of the men and his shoulder was pressed against a rack of servers.

"'Allo, Major Casey," said a man dressed like a bellhop, "I 'ope you blokes brought your own chairs."

There were three men already sitting in the closet-sized room looking at the monitors, one dressed like a bellhop, one dressed like a waiter, and one dressed in casual clothes, like a hotel guest might be.

"Hey, Reilly. I thought you were in prison," responded Casey.

"No dice, Major. They 'aven't caught up with me yet, 'appy to tell you. Let me introduce you to me mates. This 'ere is Claude. 'E's from the DGSE," said Reilly, referring to the Directorate-General for External Security, the French intelligence agency. Casey and Chuck nodded at the man dressed like a waiter.

"An' this reprobate is 'Ans. BND," said Reilly, referring to the Federal Intelligence Service, the German CIA equivalent. Chuck recognized the reference, as Sarah had recently pretended to be a BND officer to the late Dren Selenica in Budapest. Casey and Chuck nodded to the man dressed casually.

Reilly went on, "Lads, this is Major John Casey, star of the NSA. Who's your friend, Major?"

"This is Chuck Carmichael."

All three men looked at Chuck and shifted in their seats, maybe a little startled. Reilly said, "Blimey, Major. You're movin' in rarefied circles nowadays. This bloke is supposed to be pretty 'ot shite. Least if the gossip 'olds true." Reilly stood up and reached his hand out to Chuck, but said to Casey, "I thought 'e'd be older."

As Reilly and Chuck shook hands, Casey said, "Ignore this idiot, Chuck. He got into MI-6 on a special program just for morons. He moves his lips when he reads."

"Bugger off, Major. You're just jealous," said Reilly with a grin. The other two men had also risen to shake hands with Chuck and Casey. "If you're 'ere to watch the Russkies, I wasn't kidding about the seats. We're a little tight."

"Naw, we'll be here and gone. Chuck has rigged up something that will forward all the feeds to his computer."

"No way," said Reilly. "And how did you manage that, Chuck?"

"Naw, Chuck," said Casey, before Chuck could explain. "If they want our tech know-how they'll have to go through channels. The brass will probably demand something in return." Casey started to laugh. "Sorry, fellas. You guys are stuck here. Carmichael and I will be getting room service and watching this stuff in sunlight and fresh air."

There was some good natured grumbling as Chuck plugged a flashdrive into one of the computers. He checked the monitor and gave Casey a thumbs-up. He removed the flashdrive and pocketed it. Chuck said, "Sorry, guys. But, ummm, listen. If it gets too hot in here these machines are going to overheat and shut down or start to screw up. So, I don't know...try to be colder, I guess," said Chuck.

The suggestion was met with catcalls. One of the men threw a wadded-up piece of paper at him. Chuck and Casey left the server room chuckling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With the devices in place and recording, Casey and Chuck met the two women members of their team on the ski slopes. Sarah took Chuck to the easiest slope and began to work with him on his skiing. Casey and Amy followed some of the Russian wedding guests to see what they were up to.

It took Chuck about forty-five minutes to get the hang of turning and stopping. He had snow in his hair from multiple falls by the time he did, but was enjoying himself immensely. Perhaps a few months ago, he might have had more trouble skiing, but the workouts he'd been doing with Casey and Sarah had made him a great deal stronger and more flexible. It still took a while to get the hang of it, but once he did he was having a great time. At least until that one time when, on the middle of the ski trail, he forgot how to turn left and Sarah had to walk up the mountain to talk him through it. By the end of the day, though, he was skiing the easiest trails with her and whooping with delight at the exhilaration he felt.

He told her that they were definitely going to try this back home. She had assured him that the trails back home were easier in general than the trails in Switzerland and, back home, he'd be an intermediate skier, not a novice. That made him pretty happy.

Meanwhile, Amy and Casey had been skiing throughout the afternoon and managed to stay near enough some of the Russians to pick up useful intelligence on a few interesting things. And, although this was not a necessary part of the job, they had fun on the slopes as well.

Later that evening, in the hotel bar, Amy was drinking vodka with a Russian black market arms dealer named Dmitry Siljak. Sarah and Chuck were chatting up a Russian couple, Grigory Krylov and his wife, who were involved in "banking" in the Caribbean. Casey was sitting at the bar sipping German beer and listening to a boring conversation by a couple of Russian men next to him. It involved a woman from the Moscow Circus that one of the men had dated for a while. It seems she was one of the animal trainers working with bears and in bed she could...

Casey's attention to the conversation was abruptly cut short when one of the valets from the hotel's parking garage approached him and said, quietly, "Major Casey, I have a message for you from Lt. Colonel Fabron. DGSE." As that organization operated under the French Ministry of Defense, it was in no way surprising that one of its officers would hold military rank.

Casey looked at the man carefully and said, "I don't know the guy."

The man continued as if he hadn't heard Casey. "She asked me to tell you to steer clear of Federov at the wedding. Your presence has already been noted. She's been after the man for two years and undercover for a year and a half. The target noted your interest in her and was slightly concerned. Please, stay away or you risk blowing an important operation. She further asked me to tell you that she's sorry about Grozny. She thought you were a civilian. Had she known you worked for the NSA, she'd have handled matters differently."

Casey just looked at him, still digesting the information he'd just learned. Eventually, he grunted in the affirmative and nodded his head.

The man, seemingly satisfied, said, "Merci. Bonne nuit, Major."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Boris Smirnov would be happy when this part of the job was over. He enjoyed the computers and the radios and the other tech gear and he loved the money he was making. But he was stuck in the hotel room for the whole trip. The place stunk. It literally stunk. He wouldn't even let the maid in to clean. He had swept the place for wireless listening devices and knew it was clear of those things. Once clear, if he allowed no one to enter for the entire time he was there and never left himself, it would stay clear. Hence, he was stuck here. The Swiss Alps were just outside the windows and were every bit as spectacular as he'd always thought. But he was in here, eating room service and staring at computer screens. Then and there, he decided he'd have to open the windows in the room. Anything to let some fresh air in.

He had set up five computers and multiple monitors to run all the information he was gathering. Bluetooth receivers were located throughout the room. He thanked God the room had enough power to handle the load he'd placed on it. And if the room was not crowded enough with all the computers and tech stuff, Feliks had decided to store miscellaneous stuff for the wedding itself in the room. There were boxes of a special vodka, bottles of which were to go on each table. Key chain gifts for each guest. A carton of disposable cameras, a few of which were to be placed on each table for the guests to take candid photos of each other during the celebration. He had jammed as much of that stuff as he could into the closet, just so he could move around the room.

With all of his equipment, he had accessed almost all of the wireless bugs that the various intelligence agencies were using in the hotel, but that gave him more information than he could digest. It was all being recorded for later use, but at the moment there were only a few things he was following closely. Victor and Mara, of course, to make sure they were safe. They looked so happy, he thought. The crowd of wedding guests in the hotel bar. And the big American that Feliks had told him to keep special watch on when he returned from skiing. Feliks had particularly wanted to know if the man approached Mara. So far, he had not.

As unpleasant as this job was, the good news is that it would be over tomorrow. After the wedding he would be done. They would pack up and head back to Moscow. He'd talk to Feliks, maybe, and ask for a few days off. He didn't ski, but it might be fun to hang around here and just look at the Alps, while breathing fresh air.

He looked at the hotel's security camera with the image of the man he now knew as Casey. He had installed a relay on the hotel's computer to forward duplicates of all its feeds to his computer. Casey was sitting in the hotel bar alone when one of the hotel's valets approached him and they exchanged a few words. Smirnov reached for the feed on one of the MI-6 listening devices placed in the bar. By the time he got it up into his headphones, the conversation had ended. He backed the recording up a couple of minutes and listened to the discussion. It was in English, a language he didn't speak (although he understood the placename "Grozny"). He marked it and made a note to have Feliks listen to it in the morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: Don't laugh about forgetting how to turn left on the ski slopes. That happened to my wife when she was learning to ski in Colorado. Luckily, we eventually got her down the mountain. Even more luckily, she doesn't read this story and doesn't know that I just told you all about that embarrassing incident.


	77. Chapter 77

A/N: Ownership of Chuck is maintained by a small cabal of reclusive investors established on a Caribbean island so small it has no name. Ok, not really.

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The next morning, for no particular reason and somewhat unusually for her, Sarah was the first member of Team B up and showered. With the rest of her team just beginning to move around the suite, she gave Chuck a quick kiss and went out to the bakery she had seen a few doors down from the hotel. They had certainly gotten lucky with the weather, she thought as she walked through the streets of Interlaken. Although cold, the day was bright and clear, the sky a fresh shade of blue. She was able to greet the scattering of other early morning pedestrians with a cheery 'guten morgen.' The bakery was located in a touristy Swiss chalet style building, but it had always seemed crowded when they passed it, so Sarah was hoping for the best. She bought a bag of chocolate croissants to take back to the room for all four of them. Notwithstanding her proficiency with German, she had to admit that what people said about Swiss German was accurate, even fluent German speakers could find it pretty hard to follow.

On her way back through the hotel's lobby, she paused to watch as the hotel staff set up one of the banquet rooms for that afternoon's wedding of the Russian arms dealer and the French spy.

The night before, Casey had shared what he had learned about the DGSE seduction mission against Federov. Both she and Amy had shuddered at the idea of an eighteen month long seduction, but accepted it as a legitimate explanation. The woman's job with DGSE also explained Ilsa's...Lt. Colonel Fabron's, prior cover when she knew Casey. The position as an AP photographer was ideal to send her out into the world's hot spots on behalf of French intelligence. But to include a wedding...a marriage... on this current assignment...uggghhhh. Sarah felt tremendous sympathy for the French spy.

She also found herself uncomfortable with the very idea of what the woman planned to do that afternoon and wasn't too sure why. If the spy could go through with a marriage merely as part of the charade of seduction, the institution itself couldn't be a very important one at all, at least not to her. As she thought about it, it seemed to be the implied dismissal of the seriousness of marriage itself that bothered her. Her own thoughts and feelings surprised her. She didn't know why she felt that way.

She watched the hotel's personnel swathing furniture with white cloth. A wedding. She had never been a girl to dream about a wedding. Playing dress up with a dishtowel as a veil. Dragoon the boy next door to act as the groom. Nope. As she got older the idea of a wedding...of marriage, just didn't enter her mind. If she had thought about it at all, it would have been some hypothetical thing that happens to other people... maybe happens to other people...like retirement. It just wasn't part of her world view or a part of the way she thought about herself. She didn't even have any married friends and had never been in a wedding party.

Certainly, she didn't have any decent role models in her life that she could look to for a testament to the institution of marriage. Her parent's marriage had been nothing but disastrous until her father had up and left with her to travel the country committing crimes. Even before that, while they were still together her mom and dad were constantly either fighting or nursing their grievances and anger in stony sullen silence. As an adult, she blamed her father for it entirely. If her mother deserved any blame at all, it was merely for her deliberate blindness to her father's character.

The problem with her father was very deep seated. It wasn't as simple as the fact that he could not commit to one person for the rest of his life. That he found the banns of marriage to be unacceptable chains, tying him down to a life he didn't feel suited for. That he simply could not imagine that his decision, any decision really, was forever. None of those. The real problem was that he didn't love anyone much at all, much less with all his heart and soul. She didn't really know why not. Was he too self-centered? Too cynical? Too damaged somehow? She didn't know. But she did know that his inability to truly love her mother had doomed his marriage.

Suddenly, Sarah smiled broadly to herself while watching the wedding preparations. That was it. Now she understood. That was why she was uncomfortable with the Frenchwoman's implied dismissal of marriage. Unlike her father, she understood perfectly that the love for one other person could define you, who you were as a person. That you could need someone else just as much as you needed air to breath. That you could unhesitatingly commit yourself and your life to your partner forever with nothing but joy in your heart. She understood it. Perfectly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Federov sat on Boris Smirnov's bed, his head in his hands, and said, his words muffled by his hands, "Play it again."

With a small sigh, Oblonsky did so. It was the fourth time Federov had listened to it. With each time, he seemed to shrink in on himself a little bit. Smirnov had been banished to the suite's bathroom so that the two men could sit alone. Oblonsky had called Federov immediately after listening to the conversation between the hotel's valet and the man he now knew as Casey, between the DGSE agent and the NSA agent.

Now Oblonsky sat together with Federov in Smirnov's freezing room while he watched his best friend die inside. He put his hand on his friend's back, just to let him know that he was there. A small gesture of comfort, he hoped.

"I didn't see it, Feliks. I was ...I was blind to it. You saw it, though. You saw it all along..."

"No, I didn't, Victor. If I had, I'd have done something about it."

"You're just being kind to me. You never trusted her. You said so again and again and I never listened to you, old friend. I should have listened."

"No, Victor. I asked questions, that's all. Just questions. I never knew anything. And certainly never suspected anything like...well, like this. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Federov started to cry. Oblonsky just sat silently, his hand on the other man's back as it shook with his sobs, supporting his friend as best he could just with his presence and his touch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck and Sarah were up in the room with some last minute preparations to go skiing for the morning. Casey had bitched about the delay, but sort of half-heartedly. Amy took the opportunity to go to the ladies' room. As a result, Casey was standing by himself near the back entrance to the hotel, waiting for the other members of his team to join him for a day of skiing near Russians on the slopes outside Interlaken.

Through the glass door he saw Ilsa (no, he corrected himself, Fabron) standing near a car with two of Federov's Russians. Federov himself was not among them. Still as beautiful as ever, but he tried very hard not to think of her that way anymore. Now that he understood her job, he wanted to look at their prior relationship professionally. He couldn't help but think back to those days. Was he being worked by her? Had she thought that he might be a good source? God knows the French were enthusiastic about economic espionage as part of their normal espionage portfolio. Just how much of their relationship was real? With an element of black humor, he reminded himself that he had been lying to her just as she had been lying to him. So, he really didn't want to watch her with her fiancee's goons and think about their days together. Although he didn't love her, those thoughts still made him very uncomfortable, maybe a little sad.

But now that he knew she was a spy and knew what to watch out for, he could see the signs in her eyes. The way they constantly roved the area, taking in everything. The same kind of situational awareness that all spies have. The instinctive way she placed her feet and her center of balance; she was ready to fight at any moment.

He considered an eighteen month long undercover job without a break, and a seduction job at that. She must be losing her mind. The stress of working undercover for extended periods was crippling. And to be in such constant close proximity to the target, she could never let down her guard, even for an instant. If she didn't have ulcers at the end of this mission she was made of steel.

As he watched, one of the Russians received a cell phone call. He immediately looked at Ilsa with disbelief which quickly morphed to narrowed, angry eyes. He ended the call and turned to her, gesturing to the car. His partner looked up, startled, and was spoken to in a couple of curt words.

Ilsa balked. She was giving them an argument. She didn't want to get in the car. She started to turn away. The Russians were having none of it. One of the men grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. Angrily, she shook off his hand and took out her cell phone, speaking to them angrily and rapid fire. The Russian who had gotten the call grabbed the phone and twisted it out of her hand. She punched him in the throat and spun towards the other man. Before she could complete the spin, he had hit her with a powerful right cross to the side of her face. She crumpled to the ground, out cold. Both men bent to lift her limp body into the back seat of the car.

Without conscious thought, Casey left the hotel. Ilsa was blown and he thought it almost certain that the Russians were going to kill her. Casey attacked immediately. He didn't call for back up. He didn't warn these men. He didn't seek explanations. He didn't say a word. He just attacked. He kicked the first Russian in the stomach, sending the man reeling back into the car. The second man, the recipient of the throat punch, swung at Casey. Casey leaned backwards, allowing the punch to pass harmlessly in front of him. He countered with a right-left combination that knocked the man back.

He began to reach for his weapon when, without any warning, he was hit from behind and his world went black.

XXXXXXXXX

Sarah and Chuck, dressed for skiing, came across the lobby looking for Casey and Amy. Chuck said, pointing, "There's Amy."

Amy said, "Have you seen Casey? I left him here."

"I'm sure he's around," said Chuck. "Probably just gone to the head."

A waiter hurried towards them across the lobby. Chuck recognized him as Claude, the French spy. A colleague of Fabron, Casey's ex.

As he arrived, Chuck was about to give him a friendly greeting when he caught sight of the expression the man wore. "What's wrong, Claude?" Chuck asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Come with me," the man said.

Sarah said, "We're waiting for someone."

"No," said Claude, the not-waiter. "Come with me," he repeated. They did. He led them around to the side of the lobby. As they went, at a hurried pace, Chuck murmured to Sarah and Amy, "DGSE. One of the men I met with Casey in the server room. Name's Claude."

Led by Claude, they entered an office off the lobby already occupied by two other men. Despite the early hour, the room smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. Claude said, "Voici les Américains. L'équipe de Carmichael." [Here are the Americans. Carmichael's team.]

Both men stood. One of the men said, "Nous avons un problème." [We have a problem.]

"Speak English," said Sarah.

The man said, with French accented English, "I said we have a problem." He was a short ugly man with a barrel chest and a bullet head. "I am Jean-Luc Bressard, second in command of this Federov operation for DGSE. Marie was taken by Federov's men. Your man Casey attempted to help her and was taken as well."

"Marie is Colonel Fabron?" asked Amy.

"What do you mean 'taken'?" asked Sarah.

Bressard said, "Yes, Marie is Colonel Fabron. Marie Fabron. Here, look," he said, gesturing to the computer monitor. The surveillance tape replayed on the monitor, showing the events out the back door of the hotel.

"Shit," said Chuck. "Where'd that last guy come from? Shit."

"Yes," said Bressard. "This is David Stressor, Swiss DAP. And you've already met Claude." Stressor was a medium sized man with light brown hair and round wire frame glasses. He looked completely unremarkable, which was probably useful for a spy.

"I'm Sarah Walker and this is Amy Turner. And you've already met Carmichael."

Chuck said, "We can track Casey. As long as they don't separate Casey and Fabron we will be able to find her too." As hew spoke, he was taking out his phone and pulling up the app. Hitting a few buttons, he found Casey. He was moving on a mountain road. He handed the phone to Sarah, so she could show the two Frenchmen and the Swiss spy. Meanwhile, Chuck sat at the computer and pulled up a map of the area. It didn't take him long to point at a road. "He's here, moving southwest." Chuck pointed to the computer screen. There was no icon marking Casey's movement as this computer wasn't synced with his phone and didn't have access to the program or the receiver information.

Stressor, the Swiss spy, said, "That's a dead end. Look." He pointed to the road Chuck had indicated and ran his finger down the line on the map to the end. "What's at the end?"

Bressard said, "It's halfway up a mountain and there's only a single narrow road. My guess is it's a maintenance shed or garage. Something with snowplows or similar equipment. Easy for them to defend if we were to try storm in there. There's no way to encircle it. Nothing but mountain slope behind it."

Chuck switched screens and went deeper into the hotel's computer while the others talked about the tactical situation to rescue Fabron and Casey from the isolated building.

"Do we know what Federov and his men have in mind? How did Fabron get blown?" asked Sarah.

Bressard gave a shrug, "No idea. But, based on the violence to Marie, I'm certain that she is blown. No way in the world that his men would touch her before today. No way. Federov would feed them to the sharks bit by bit if anyone touched her. And if she's blown ...well, a quick death would be a mercy."

"We'll have to get to them. Stressor, if we need DAP re-enforcements are they available?" asked Amy, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Yes, but all the re-enforcements in the world won't do any good with that location. I could get you the whole Swiss Army and they could still kill your agents before we could get halfway up the road. You'd need paratroopers to get behind them," said Stressor.

"We can do that," said Claude, as if startled by the idea. "We have a helicopter at the airport. We could land, or at least drop off, behind."

"No good. They'd hear you," said Bressard.

"How about at the top of the mountain? A couple of us could ski down and approach the building from the back. If it's quiet, we can call the others in a couple of cars to come up the road," suggested Sarah.

The agents were quiet for a few moments contemplating Sarah's strategy. Chuck checked his phone for Casey's location. "Guys, he's stopped. Looks like they've arrived at the building at the end of that road."

Bressard moved over to a different computer and typed a few buttons and checked the screen. "We have a tracker on Oblonsky's car. It's heading up the same road. Fair bet that Federov and Oblonsky are heading to meet his men there. Interrogate Marie and Casey most likely."

Claude said, "I think Walker's idea is a good one. Drop a few skiers at the top of the mountain and have them ski down to recon the building. If it's quiet the rest of us can come up by car."

"Alright," said Bressard. "I'll go get some ski gear on..."

"Bressard," said Sarah, "Come on. Turner and I are already geared up. If you can give us long guns we'll be ready to go. The distances may be too far for our sidearms."

The short Frenchman nodded. "Yes. You are right. That will save time. We have a couple FAMAS in the car. Claude can fly you up to the top," he said, referring to the assault rifle issued to the French army, a short bullpup design weapon with the magazine behind the pistol grip.

Amy nodded and said, "That will work."

"Alright. David are you good with this? We are visitors in your country after all," asked Bressard.

"Yes, Jean-Luc. I don't want any killing going on if we can help it. The paperwork alone will take me a month." Chuck thought the man was probably exaggerating, but this was Switzerland, after all, so maybe not.

"Then let's go," said Claude. "Let's get our people back."

Chuck, still sitting at the computer, said, "Guys, I've got some stuff I can do here. Ok if I sit this one out? I'm not much good in a gunfight anyway."

"What's going on, Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"Yesterday, I put a program into the hotel's computer to direct a dupe of the hotel's surveillance footage to my computer. I discovered just now...with access through this hotel terminal, that my program is not the only program that was installed to do the same thing...well, sort of the same thing. Someone installed a program a couple of days ago to send the same video to room 712 by the phone lines. I know that's one of Federov's rooms, but Casey and I couldn't get into it yesterday. It was occupied when we tried. Whoever is in there is watching the same video we are. I just checked the room service deliveries to that room and there's only one person...or only one meal at a time, anyway. If that's where Federov has his tech guy stashed, maybe I can get in, trank him and get a look at their computers. If they have something in mind for Casey and Fabron, maybe I can help figure it out while you guys fly in helicopters and ski down mountains."

"We have not been able to crack into his computer system," said Bressard. "Not for two years. Even if you can get to the machines themselves, why do you think you can get past his security?"

"If the stuff in the hotel room is connected to his main system, then I can get in," replied Chuck with a shrug. As arrogant as the statement could be, with Chuck it just seemed to be calm self-confidence.

Bressard looked at him for a moment and said, "Not maybe? Not probably? Not likely? Just yes, you can get in?"

"Yes," said Chuck calmly. Sarah was smiling slightly to herself, but Bressard looked a little dubious.

There was a quick exchange in French between Bressard and Claude in which the name Carmichael was mentioned a couple of times. Bressard looked at Chuck a little differently after hearing what Claude had to say.

He laid a hand on Chuck's shoulder and said, "With Marie blown, this operation...two years of work and untold sacrifice...was done...a failure. If you can do what you say you can do, you will have saved it. Good luck to you, Carmichael."

Chuck nodded and said, "Good luck to you all." Sarah leaned forward and gave him a kiss. It was obvious to the two Frenchmen and the Swiss agent that Chuck was clearly Sarah Walker's man. Bressard's opinion of Chuck rose a great deal with that understanding.

"Be safe, sweetie. Bring back Case," said Chuck, squeezing her arm.

"Yeah. You too. Be safe," said Sarah.

"Be safe, Amy," said Chuck.

"You too, Chuck. Take good care of Federov's geek," said Amy.

"Nerd," said Chuck and Sarah at the same time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: When I was last in Interlaken I was with one of my buddies who is fluent in German. When I told him, just the other day, that I was writing this story about our friends visiting Interlaken, he said, "Jeez, I speak German and I still couldn't figure out what those Swiss guys were saying. Remember?" So, yeah, Swiss German is a tough dialect.

A/N3: As usual, love to hear from any of you so inclined to drop a review. Those of you who are guests, please consider signing up here. It lets us authors respond to your reviews with PMs and gives you the added pleasure of ignoring us. Oh, and there's a Facebook page run by David Carner all about Chuck fanfiction. It's a lot of fun there, so please consider dropping by. See you all next week.


	78. Chapter 78

A/N: Ownership of Chuck makes me think about the ownership of Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank. Interesting.

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Federov and Oblonsky parked in front of the remote garage building on the side of the mountain. A second car with three more of Federov's men followed and parked behind. As Oblonsky got out of his car, he gestured for the other three men to stay put outside. Halfway between the car and the garage door, Federov stopped to light a cigarette. His hands were shaking, but eventually he managed. He glanced at Oblonsky and gave him a sour look. Oblonsky shrugged as if to say, 'What are you going to do?'

The building was a single story with two large garage doors and a wide parking and turn area in front. A few windows marked the likely location of a small office inside. The building was surrounded by deep snow on all sides except the drive up to it. Behind the building was the mountain slope. It was a very secure location, if it ever had to be defended.

The interior of the garage was dim and after the bright sunshine reflecting off the snow it took Federov and Oblonsky a few moments for their eyes to adjust. Federov took a long drag of his cigarette. When he could see again, the first thing he focused on was Casey and Mara zip tied wrist to wrist and back to back in straight chairs. Each of them had duct tape across their mouths.

To one side of the room, lying on the floor on a plastic tarp, were two dead bodies, a man and a woman. The body of the man was dressed in a tuxedo, the body of the woman in a beautiful white wedding dress. The macabre sight was unnerving, even to Federov, who had expected it.

Federov looked down at the woman he knew as Mara. She returned his gaze with calm eyes. He saw the bruise on her cheek where she had been struck. Reaching out, he touched it gently. He looked up at the three men who had brought her and Casey to the building from the hotel. Looking at one of the men he said in Russian, "Did you hit her?" The man, sensing something in his voice, just shook his head and allowed his eyes to slide sideways to look at one of his partners. Federov shifted his gaze to that man and said, softly, "Did you have to hit her to get her in the car?"

The man nodded and said, "Yes, Victor, I..." He never finished the sentence as Federov pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the face twice. The gunshots were deafening and echoed in the empty space. Once the body had collapsed to the ground, Federov reholstered his weapon and again touched the bruise on her cheek softly. None of the other men moved, but their eyes were wide with shock. Even Oblonsky was surprised.

Paying no notice to the men's reactions, Federov reached behind him for a chair and pulled it up, seating himself close to her, their knees almost touching. His face was a that of a man in tremendous pain. He took another drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke to the side, so as not to blow it directly at her. After a moment's pause, he slowly reached out to put a hand on her knee, but stopped himself and brought his hand back to his lap, letting it fall there as if his arm had lost all strength.

He began to speak, the words choking out of him as if every word physically hurt. "It was for you. You see, Mara? All this was for you. I didn't want you involved in my world...in the crimes and the killing. The guns for the Africans. You were too good for it, you see, my love? You were a good person. You sold flowers. So, I spent the last year arranging to leave." Federov paused and tried to gather himself a bit, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "It cost me about $70,000,000 in transaction costs, but I washed my money and stowed it all offshore. I didn't care about the cost. It didn't matter. I arranged for the wedding here in Switzerland and invited every Russian thug I knew, just to fill the hotel with western spies as witnesses. Did you ever wonder why I didn't want your picture taken, my love? After all, you are so beautiful. I would get plastic surgery to change my appearance, but not you...I wouldn't do that to you. My dentist that I sent you to? Your dental x-rays now match that poor woman over there," he gestured to the corpse in the wedding dress. Seeing the look in her eyes, he went on, "Yes. I knew you wouldn't like that. The killings. He was a bum, a homeless man. She was a cheap prostitute, but in each case their rough builds match us. And now the dental records too. But why would anyone even go that far...to investigate? We would have driven away from the hotel and the car crashed into a deep valley. It was set to burn up. Everyone, the Russian mobsters, the western spies, the Swiss police, they would all have seen us leave the hotel and then the car crash...the fire...the bodies...no mystery. Just a tragedy. We would have been free, my love. Passed beyond that life I've led for so long. Finished. Together and at peace. For the rest of our lives. Together."

He sat back and took a deep breath. He had to pause before he could force out the next sentence "I only have one question, Lt. Colonel Fabron...was it all a lie? Did you ever feel anything for me at all?"

Fabron, never breaking eye contact with him, shook her head 'no.'

Victor sobbed once but managed not to cry. After looking into her eyes for long moments, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Good-bye, my love...my life."

He stood up and continued to look at her, then he seemed to shake himself a little and stepped around her.

He put a hand on Casey's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, and, switching to English, said, "She screwed you over in Grozny, huh? I'm sorry, my friend. I truly am." There was nothing but compassion in his eyes and his voice. He gave Casey's shoulder another squeeze and turned away.

Switching back to Russian, he said to one of his men, "Kill them both, but painlessly. I do not want them to suffer. Then dispose of all three bodies," he gestured at the dead henchman who had struck Fabron, "so they will never be found. You understand? Feliks and I are leaving. I cannot watch."

The man agreed. Federov and Oblonsky left the building and those inside heard the roar of their car departing moments later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck knocked on the door to the room where he thought Federov's computers were located, even though it had a do not disturb sign hanging from the doorknob.

Chuck was a tall man, significantly taller than average. It was natural for him to unconsciously assume that a stranger would be of average height and, for that reason, Chuck would generally expect to focus his eyes at about the level of his own chin. So, Chuck was a little surprised when the man opened the door to the room and Chuck was looking at the middle of that man's chest. Slowly, he looked up from the chest to a Slavic-looking heavy face on a man who was a taller than he was. The man was roughly Yuri's size and shape, maybe bigger. 'What was with these Russians?', Chuck thought to himself. 'Was it something in the water?'

Both men were startled for a moment. Chuck by the size of the Russian computer guy. Smirnov by the American agent, one of Casey's team, just knocking on his door. Chuck fired the trank pistol in his hand, shooting a dart into the big man's chest.

Due to the cold room, Boris was wearing a heavy sweater and the hotel's robe on top of it. He looked down at the dart sticking out of the robe with surprise, then back up at Chuck with a sudden flare of alarm. "Uh, oh," said Chuck. Chuck fired a second time intending to aim for the man's neck, just as Boris grabbed Chuck with his left hand and punched him in the side of the head with his right hand. As big as the man was, it was a very powerful blow. The second trank dart flew off into the room to stick in the ceiling.

Chuck was reeling a bit from the blow and found the trank gun plucked from his hand and he himself shoved into a closet in the hotel room. He heard the snap of the closet door locking.

'Aw, crap', he thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The frigid mountain air whipped through the open cabin of the helicopter, blowing her hair around her head. Sarah looked back over her shoulder to see Amy looking to her for direction. They were perched in the open doors on either side of the helicopter with their skis sitting on the runners. Sarah glanced down. The drop was approaching. Sarah pulled her ski goggles over her eyes. When they were about four feet over the snow, and Claude had stabilized the hovering aircraft, Sarah turned and nodded to Amy, who nodded back. Both women pushed off and launched themselves out to hit the snow beneath them. As they had landed on a slight slope, they began to move down the hill immediately. The FAMAS rifles were slung across their backs.

Sarah normally enjoyed skiing, but today she could focus only on the mission ahead. Save Casey and the French spy. While the trip down was filled with thoughts other than skiing, she had to keep a part of her mind busy on the transit down the mountainside. They were off the normal ski trails and, as a result the terrain was dangerous, the snow very deep. People who skied off trail either had guides or knew the terrain themselves. She and Amy had neither source of expertise, which, in and of itself, so dangerous as to almost be reckless. Was that a boulder buried under the snow? A tree stump? Was there a ravine or crevasse? As they had flown up from the Interlaken airport, they had studied the slope from the air and determined that it was skiable, but that was a "big picture" determination. The little details could still earn you a broken leg.

Of course, most skiers, no matter how bold when skiing on unknown terrain, were not facing a gunfight at the end of the run. In terms of risks to be run, skiing unknown Alpine terrain was minimal compared to what Amy and Sarah were heading into. What would they find when they arrived at the building? How many enemies with what armament? Was the enemy expecting them for some reason? Where was the nearest cover if she and Amy were shot at? Did they post guards? Would Casey and Fabron be used as human shields?

Both women were hatless and their long blonde hair spread out behind them in the wind, as they carved long graceful curves in the virgin snow. When they were minutes away from the building, Sarah said into her handheld radio to the French team coming up the road, "We are approaching the target. What's your status?"

Bressard replied, "We are on the road. Tell us what you see when you get there."

"Roger," she responded.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Federov's two Russian thugs approached Casey and Fabron from either direction. Each man had a gun in his hand. The American and the French spies could not speak to each other, as their mouths were still covered with tape. Casey twisted their wrists to rotate around each other, which locked their elbows together pulling them tighter back to back. They couldn't coordinate a plan, so Casey just hoped she would know what to do on her side.

When the Russian was close enough, Casey stood and lunged forward, pulling Fabron along with him. As he rose, the top of his head hit the chin of the man in front of him, staggering him backward. Fabron spun her leg is a sweeping kick to the jaw of the man approaching on her side. As Casey straightened and Fabron's feet hit the floor, she immediately bounced up and launched two more kicks. The first knocked the gun from the man's hand, and the second caught him in the throat with the edge of her foot. He staggered back, clutching his injured trachea.

Casey's man had recovered sufficiently to take a step back and begin to raise his gun. Casey spun in place, swinging Fabron's feet around in a huge arc. She connected with the Russian in the chest and knocked him backwards. The gun flew out of his hand

With both enemies temporarily stunned, Fabron raised both their hands above their heads. Casey immediately sensed what she had in mind and cooperated. He waited for her to move first, unsure whether she would twist to the right or left. She chose left, so he twisted right. As they both twisted in large arcs, with straight arms over their heads, they found themselves face-to-face with their bound arms now in front of them. As zip ties can be snapped with sufficient sudden force, Casey looked into her eyes and shook their hands downward once to show her what he intended. She nodded her head. They raised their hands together and suddenly slammed them downward, pushing hard against each other's palms. The sudden force snapped the tie on Casey's right hand and Fabron's left, leaving them still bound to each other by one hand.

The man to Casey's right had recovered enough that he started to come at Casey from behind. Fabron jerked her head in that direction and Casey, without seeming to look, snapped an elbow up and into the man's face. The man collapsed.

The man on the far side of Fabron began to come at them again. Together they moved to meet him. Fabron hit him with a left in the chin. Casey hit him with a right on the other side of his chin. They shuffled forward as the man staggered backwards. Fabron hit him again with a left and Casey again with a right. With a quick glance at each other, they pulled back Fabron's right and Casey's left hands and drove them forward with the combined power of both spies to connect with the man's nose. The man's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

With both men down, Casey and Fabron snapped the remaining zip tie and pulled the tape from their mouths. They picked up the guns the men had dropped and moved to the window of the garage to see how many Russians were outside.

Casey glanced to his side at the woman he had thought an innocent AP photographer and then had thought dead for almost four years.

She caught him looking at her and said, with a tiny smile, "What?" Some part of his mind noticed that her Russian accent from four years earlier had disappeared.

"Damn, girl. You look good with a gun." She laughed.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Chuck sat on the floor of the closet and turned on his penlight. 'Ok, this sucks,' he thought. Can't very well get rescued by Sarah or Casey. Sarah was busy rescuing Casey, so, he, Chuck was on his own. And that guy was really big. And tough looking. He seemed to be a nerd, but a nerd who spent time weightlifting when he wasn't doing nerdy things.

Chuck started to look around the small space. Many bottles of vodka, so he could get drunk if he wanted to, but that was not at the top of his to-do list. A box of disposable cameras. Some empty computer bags to carry all the tech stuff he'd glimpsed in the hotel room before being stunned by one punch (sort of embarrassing, actually). A box of presents. He opened one of the gift wrapped boxes to find a key chain. Not a lot of help.

He thought for a few moments. Disposable cameras. Disposable cameras had flashes. And a flash draws its electrical power from a capacitor. He was sitting next to a box of capacitors and batteries to charge them. He mentally reviewed what he knew about capacitors. They would store the electrical energy and release it suddenly at high voltage. Now that was interesting.

He took one of the cameras out and broke it open, holding his pen light in his teeth. He took out the battery and hit the button to take a flash picture, which discharged any stored charge in the capacitor. He didn't want to shock himself as he fiddled around. He found the leads from the capacitor to the flash element and broke them loose. Using his multitool, he stripped the insulation from the ends of the wires. 'Ok,' he thought, 'these leads are too short. I need something to lengthen them.' He poked around in the box of gifts and found some papers connected together with a paper clip. He took the paper clip and broke it into pieces. Using some tape that he took from one of the key chain boxes, he attached the bits of broken paper clips to the leads from the capacitor, lengthening them so they extended beyond the end of the plastic camera box. If he'd had more time and proper tools, he would have soldered the pieces together, but this was going to be a one-time weapon so it didn't have to be too sturdy. He replaced the battery and pushed the button to charge the capacitor. Time to test it. He found a piece of metal and discharged his makeshift stun gun with a satisfying crack of electricity. Ok, so it works. Time to make a second one.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

As Sarah and Amy came to the isolated garage building they heard gunfire. Sarah said to Bressard, "Gunfire at the target. We're going to engage the Russians."

"Right. Good luck. We'll be up the hill as soon as we can."

Still skiing very fast, Sarah nodded to Amy. Both women dropped their ski poles in the snow and unslung the rifles from their backs. It was a useful design element of the FAMAS that the trigger guards were extra large to accommodate those occasions when the users were wearing gloves. Each woman spy began to pay more attention to the view over her weapon's sights than at the terrain ahead of them.

With a single hand gesture, Sarah directed Amy to take the near side of the building, while Sarah took the farther side. There were three men spread behind two cars, shooting into the building. Unfortunately for them, they had taken cover to protect against gunfire from the building, not from the snowy fields on either side. Sweeping around in a smooth arc, her eyes never leaving the weapon's sights, she found the first man and fired a short burst into his torso. Shooting while still on the move, Amy killed a second man on her side of the building. The third man rose and tried to move off to better cover, but shots from the building itself killed him in mid-movement.

Skidding to a stop on the snow, Sarah called out, "CASEY."

"HERE, WALKER. COMING OUT."

Casey and Fabron stepped out of the building into the sunlight. Each held a pistol pointed to the ground. Moments later, Fabron's support team arrived in two cars.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"HEY. HEY. OPEN UP. GOTTA PEE, DUDE. HEY. I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE. I GOTTA PEE. OPEN THE DOOR. HEY, HEY...HEY..." Every shout was accompanied by a hard kick on the closet door. Eventually, the guy opened the door to punch Chuck again and quiet him down. The moment the door opened, Chuck jumped at him and jammed the two improvised stun guns into the sides of the big man's neck, fully discharging them both immediately.

The big Russian staggered back and collapsed to the floor, onto his hands and knees, shaking his head and mumbling curses in Russian. At least Chuck thought he was cursing, it made sense, after all. Chuck looked around the room and found his trank gun on the desk, partially disassembled. He picked up one of the loose darts and stuck it into the back of the big Russian's neck. The man promptly collapsed onto the carpet.

'Phew,' thought Chuck. 'That was what I wanted to start with.'

After closing the hotel room's window, he sat down to the computers the man had running. Now this was going to be interesting.

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The team of agents, augmented by Stressor from the Swiss DAP, used the tracker previously installed on Oblonsky's car to track them from the garage. Circling through the mountain roads, they cut off the Russians near Isenfluh.

Fedrov and Oblonsky were blocked. The slope up the side of the mountain was to their right and the terrifying drop to their left. Arrayed in front of them were six weapons, held by six western spies standing behind their cars. Federov could see Mara among them. Both men left the car and squatted behind the open car doors for cover. Federov got a look in his eyes that Oblonsky had never seen before. He said, quietly, "Goodbye, old friend."

Still holding his pistol, he stood up and walked forward towards the waiting agents, pointing his weapon at them. Casey mumbled, "Suicide by cop."

Fabron looked at Casey for an instant and, with an almost panicked look in her eyes, bellowed, in French, "Ne tirez pas. Ne tirez pas." [don't shoot]

Seeing what Fabron intended, Sarah repeated the command in German and English.

They stayed like that for a few moments, Federov standing alone in the road with the pointed gun, the agents pointing their weapons back at him. No one moved. Then Marie stood from behind the car she had been using for cover and lowered her weapon. Casey hissed at her, "Don't do it." She ignored him. She put her gun on the hood of the vehicle. Victor's gun aimed at her. Ever so slowly, she walked towards him. The expression on her face was unreadable.

Amy nudged Sarah and gestured with her chin at Oblonsky who was aiming at Fabron with hatred and rage on his face. Amy and Sarah stood from behind cover and aimed at him. Their movement caught his eye and he looked away from Fabron for a moment. The sight that greeted him was unnerving. Two beautiful blondes with hard blue eyes were training their weapons on him with rocksteady aim. He well understood that any aggressive move on his part would be the last thing he would ever do. He slowly nodded, not looking any happier, and released his grip on his weapon. It swung loose on his finger held up by the trigger guard. He bent to lay it on the roadway.

Marie moved towards Victor as if in slow motion, taking one careful step after another, her eyes never leaving his. Other than the soft tread of her boots on the roadway and the whisper of the Alpine wind, there was silence.

Victor's face was twisted into a mask of pain and despair as Marie approached him. His hand, holding the weapon and still aiming at her, shook. There were unshed tears in his eyes. Once she was close to him, she stood before him silently and slowly reached up to his gun hand. Placing her gentle hand atop his, she moved the gun down until it pointed at the road beneath their feet. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the weapon to the tarmac. He began to cry. The wind and his sobs were the only sounds on the road.

The assembled agents exhaled and stood from behind their cover. Stressor moved to take Federov and Oblonsky into custody.

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A/N2: A word of advice. If you are ever a guest at a bar mitzvah and the family of the bar mitzvah boy puts those disposable cameras on the tables at the party for candid pictures, do not take that disposable camera apart and do the trick Chuck did to make a stun gun out of it. Don't. And, most especially, do not show that trick to a bunch of thirteen year old boys, who will then proceed to modify every disposable camera in the place and run around the rest of the party stunning each other. Don't do it. Really. Trust me on this one. Learn from my mistakes.


	79. Chapter 79

A/N: The ownership of Chuck is kept somewhere inside Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank, California. I'm thinking it might be hidden in the famous water tower.

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The six agents sat together in the living room of a large apartment off a side street in Interlaken. Claude was with Stressor, processing Federov and Oblonsky through the Swiss legal system, leaving Bressard and Lt. Colonel Marie Fabron hosting the American team. A coffee setup with a large French press was on the low table at their knees. Bressard seemed at ease with the Americans; Fabron as well, except for Casey. Her eyes easily took in the others in the room, but wouldn't remain on Casey for more than a scant moment.

Chuck entered something onto his computer on his lap and pointed to the large tv screen in front of them, which he had turned into a monitor. "Here are Federov's secured files. Using the computers I found in Suite 712 of the hotel, I remotely accessed his records. Seems he keeps a server in Panama. But, I don't read Russian, so..."

"One moment, please, Agent Carmichael," interrupted Bressard, holding his coffee cup in two hands. "Our people were trying for years to get into his files. How did you manage in a couple of hours?" He didn't sound at all dubious, just legitimately curious.

"Unlike your guys, Agent Bressard, I had the hardware available to me. Federov's hardware. The access seemed to be controlled by a password, but his guy had an iris scanner in the room. That didn't make any sense to me. It's a pretty complicated bit of tech to bring all the way from Moscow to Interlaken for nothing. Turns out the iris scan was the way in. The password was a dummy. It was just there to distract a hacker. Waste time. Your guys must have been trying to crack a phony password."

"But Victor was with us," said Fabron. "You couldn't get to his iris."

"True, but his man was with me. That guy needed access as administrator for all of Federov's systems. And, guess what? That guy's iris looks pretty much the same whether or not he's awake. But he's a pretty big guy and it wasn't easy to move him around to the scanner..."

"How can you get to it now? Here?" asked Bressard gestured to the computer page displayed on the TV in front of them. "Through our system and without anyone's iris?"

"Well, first off, I'm using an encrypted hot spot, so I don't have to go through your system or wi-fi at all. Also, once I got in the first time, I installed a back door onto his system," said Chuck, handing over a small flash drive. "This is for you guys. It's the procedure to get in through the back door I made. It's undetectable and leaves the door open for you or any of your investigators to take a look at whatever you want, whenever you want. Just don't leave any evidence that you were there, if you want to be there covertly." Chuck didn't think it was necessary to mention that he was giving them access through only one of two back doors he'd created into Federov's system. If the French thought they could monopolize the intelligence to be drawn from that server, they would have made a mistake. If they tried to close the door he'd given them, the effort would be fruitless against the American agencies he worked for. Not that he distrusted the French, of course.

"Oh, my God," said Fabron, stunned. "His whole system? It's all open to us?"

"Well, yeah," said Chuck. "I know you guys want him...I mean you had the DAP guys arrest him and everything. If you're going to try him, you need the evidence, and I don't know what French laws are for this kind of computer search. Or Swiss laws, maybe." Chuck shrugged. "Anyway, I don't know what you have to do in order to use the information you get from his systems this way, but I guess that's up to your prosecutors. You'll have to extradite him across the border to France, of course."

"Stressor has assured us that, in these circumstances, the extradition will be purely pro-forma," said Bressard. "Seems the Swiss don't want to piss off Moscow any more than they have to. They'd much rather let Paris take the heat from Putin, even if he's about to step down. Maybe from Medvedev in a couple of months, I guess."

"In addition to the private files," said Chuck, "I also found the files for the transactions to hide his money offshore. These are in a bunch of different languages, but there are some in English. Those I was able to look at. Much of it is now stashed in the Caribbean. I guess you'll be able to claw that back or something, if you want to. He bought an estate on the north side of Trinidad, big house, grounds, pools. Looks nice from the pictures."

While they had been talking, Casey had been studying the information displayed. "What's that?" asked Casey, pointing to the screen.

"This is what I wanted to show you. It's the first one. I can't read the words, Case, they're obviously in Cyrillic, but from the numbers and set up it appears to be a transaction register. Customers, dates, amounts, and...I guess, this entry..." He pointed to something on the screen. "...would be the product or products sold. As I said, I can't read it. This particular one seems to be for the Ivory Coast, if that part..." He pointed again. "...means what it says. We know that he was a supplier to the rebels there..."

"Yes. It was because of that support that President Chirac ordered us to infiltrate his organization and shut him down. Then President Sarkozy kept the operation alive when he assumed the office. We put a man in to get evidence. Well, we tried to anyway. The man we tried to put in was murdered by Oblonsky. We can't prove it, but we have high confidence that he pulled the trigger," said Fabron.

"His support for the rebels...yeah." Chuck continued, "I can't really read all of these, but I was able to look at several other transaction registers. All of them have one thing in common."

"What's that?" asked Sarah.

"They end about a year ago. No more transactions. Looks like he stopped doing business. Case, what he told you about getting out of the line of work is borne out by his own private records. Umm, told Colonel Fabron, I mean. He seems to have been done. Finished. He's not an arms dealer anymore, he's an ex-arms dealer."

"Oh..." said Bressard. Fabron was studying something on the carpet at her feet as if it were really, really interesting. Taking a deep breath and holding tight to the flashdrive, Bressard continued, "Extraordinary work, Carmichael. Truly. This is wonderful. I had worried that with Marie blown this operation would be a wash out. Thank you for your help. Not just you, but all four of you. Without your assistance we might not have been able to nail Federov."

"And I might be dead," said Fabron. She addressed herself to the American team as a whole, but she still seemed unable to look Casey in the eye.

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A few hours later, Casey, Amy, Sarah and Chuck were sitting in the hotel's bar, drinking German beer and French wine and chatting. They were all scheduled to leave in the morning. Casey and Amy to Los Angeles, Sarah and Chuck to DC. The Russians at the hotel were subdued. The groom and best man had been arrested and the bride had disappeared, and that tended to put a damper on the wedding festivities. The hotel staff was dismantling the wedding preparations.

Casey's phone beeped with an incoming message. He looked down and said, "It's from Marie. She wants to meet with me for a coffee. Not around the Russians, obviously."

"Can't say I blame her," said Sarah. "These people probably want to … punish her for their friends' arrest." She had stopped herself from saying 'kill her' given Casey's history with the woman.

"Yeah," said Casey, but he didn't move right away. Eventually, he sighed and typed a short message into the phone.

As Casey was standing up, Chuck said, "You want one of us to come with you?"

"Naw. Thanks, kid, but I think I got this one. See you all later."

"Ok, Case," said Chuck. "Be safe."

Casey grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed out of the hotel. About a block away from the hotel entrance he found her standing silently in a pool of shadow, her hood pulled up over her head and her hands jammed into the pockets of her jacket. Her breath was visible in the cold night air. He nodded to her and she nodded back.

Silently they began to walk through the streets. She was leading him to a coffee shop she knew a few blocks from the hotel. They kept their eyes open for anyone who might want to do either of them ill. She had just made a hotel full of enemies and was still alert for that danger.

The coffee shop was a quiet place, particularly at that hour. They took seats along the wall facing the door and twisted a bit so they could each face both each other and the door. A waitress came and took coffee orders. Other than while ordering coffee, neither had said a word.

Marie was tearing a paper napkin into tiny pieces and not looking at Casey. She didn't appear to be looking at the paper in her fingers either. After a while, she looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry, John."

"It's ok, Ilsa...Marie. Sorry. Old habits. I have to get used to calling you Marie. It's ok. Don't worry about it."

"No, it's not, John..."

"Marie, you thought I was a civilian. You faked your death to get out of a relationship with a civilian. I get it. I really do. I get it. You had to do what you had to do."

She looked at him for a while, amazed that he had so easily accepted her prior actions, and said, "Yes. That's exactly what I did. But, I had reasons to do it, John. Reasons why I couldn't be in a relationship with you. I was disappearing and heading into a long term assignment. I had to cut contacts...I..."

"I know. It was work. These jobs suck for relationships. I know. We've all been there. It sucks." she nodded, glad that he understood. He reached out and squeezed her hand, but did not leave his hand touching hers. "How'd you fake the bombing in Grozny?" He hoped the change in the subject, to the more mundane operational question, might move her away from her own perceived guilt at her past behavior.

"I didn't. I was looking for a way to break up with you when I was almost killed in the bombing. I have a scar on my shoulder from a piece of shrapnel that caught me. When I saw what had happened, I ...well, I took advantage of it. I knew if I disappeared you would...everyone would...assume that I had died in the bombing. The Trinchina identity was being retired anyway. It had drawn too much notice in the Bekka Valley and it was time for it to go. So, getting rid of Trinchina and breaking up with you...well, it was sort of...well, it worked out for me. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Well, this life sucks sometimes," he said.

"Yeah," she responded, with a sad smile.

They sat quietly for a few moments. Then he said, humor in his eyes, "Russian accent gone and you speak English like an American."

With a slight grin, and looking at him from under her lashes, she said, "Two years at Notre Dame. Fighting Irish." They fell into silence again, drinking their coffee. Unlike the prior silences, this one was more comfortable.

"So, what now?" he asked.

"John, I don't think I can just pick up where we left off. Too much..."

"No, no, no. That's not what I meant. Not you and me. That's history now. I meant what now for you with work. Two years you've been trying to shut down Federov's operation. And now you did it."

"Yeah...I did. Not exactly how I'd intended to when I got started on the assignment, but successful anyway." She was silent for a while, moving the paper scraps she'd created around the table with the tip of her finger. "I guess they will debrief me and my team and use us to go through the files that Carmichael found for us...He's hot shit, by the way...Carmichael. I'll get a pat on the back. A promotion maybe. I was under for a year and a half. I'm probably going to be spending a lot of time with the psychiatrists. Then, I hope, a long vacation. Someplace that isn't Moscow. Someplace with decent wine, for sure."

Casey thought about being that deep under for that long. Damn.

"You did good, Marie," said Casey eventually. His voice was still a deep growl, but his eyes were understanding.

"Did I? Did I really? I don't think I know anymore. I was under for a long time this time. I've never been under that long...and never that deep. Victor really fell in love with me, John. He really did...I did my job too well, I guess...it sucks. It really sucks." She looked more angry than sad, which might or might not have been a good thing, thought Casey. "I wonder sometimes if it's what I signed up for, you know? We do the most terrible things, all in the name of the good guys. We make the world safer...at least that's what we tell ourselves. But to do it, we have to become the very people we are fighting, or worse. At what point have I crossed the line? At what point am I irredeemable?"

"Marie, you stepped out to Federov this afternoon and saved his life. No question about it. He was prepared, eager even, to have us kill him and you walked right up to his gun and disarmed him. That wasn't the action of someone who was irredeemable. That was someone who still knows right from wrong and still acts with honor and compassion. Someone who knows where the lines are and puts herself at risk to see that they aren't crossed."

"Maybe, John. Maybe, but the things I had to do..." Her voice drifted off to silence once again.

"I'm not really good at this, Marie, but...I understand. I mean, I think I understand...but I'm not a woman and...listen, Sarah, on my team, would be happy to talk to you about it if you need a receptive ear. Above and beyond your company's shrinks, of course. I've been with her for a few months now and there's no one whose judgment I value more. Well, Carmichael, maybe... but he's a guy..and this situation... Anyway, I'm sure she'd be happy to talk to you, or just listen, if you thought that would help."

"Thanks. I'll keep that offer in mind." They finished their coffees and paid the check.

As they were walking back towards Casey's hotel, Marie said, "So, what now for you, Mr. Energy Consultant?" There was a smile in her voice as she put her arm through his.

"Work. I'm based in LA, so I head back there tomorrow."

"Is that your permanent home? I thought you lived in DC."

"I do...I did. I'm on a long term assignment in LA and I'm planning to move my permanent residence there. I like the climate. The only thing DC has that's going for it is that it's closer to my boss. That's not the benefit it once seemed," he said with a rough grin.

They arrived back at the shadows where he had found her. "This is where I say goodbye, Sugar Bear. Good luck." She stretched up and kissed him. It wasn't a passionate kiss, but rather it had a flavor of longing for a life that was not available to her...to either of them. He understood.

"You too, Marie. Good luck. And, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're not dead." He turned away and left her in the cold shadows.

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A/N2: Melancholy ending, I guess, but none of the good guys are feeling particularly triumphant as a result of Federov's downfall. Throughout this never-ending story of mine I seem to be thanking my friend LetsGoRed fairly regularly. This chapter is no different. I must thank him for pointing out to me that what Marie did to Casey in Grozny was exactly what Casey had done to Kathleen. Once Casey recognized that, he couldn't very well be mad at Marie. I tried to have his reaction reflect that unfortunate parallel.

A/N3: Next up is an interlude before the return to Burbank. A quick stop in DC for Chuck to teach some tech guys how to be better at their jobs.


	80. Chapter 80

A/N: Rumor has it that ownership of Chuck is kept in a vault in the third sub-basement of the Warner Brothers Studio in Burbank. It's heavily guarded by armed security personnel, none of whom are Fulcrum agents. That's just how valuable it is, I guess.

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It was a pleasant one bedroom apartment off M Street in Washington, DC, in the neighborhood known as Southwest Washington, just a few blocks from the river. The phone alarm on the bedside of the pleasant bedroom of the pleasant apartment went off at seven AM. Chuck heard a groan from his bedmate, her blonde hair spread over his face, tickling his nose, her bare legs intertwined with his. Her voice was muffled by his shoulder as she said, still mostly asleep, "Make it stop." He blindly felt around the side table for his phone and, picking it up, touched it to silence the noise. She murmured "Mmmmm" and snuggled deeper into his side.

They had arrived the prior afternoon from Geneva and rented an extra-large SUV at the airport. On the way to Sarah's apartment from the airport they had stopped at an office supply store and bought packing boxes and tape.

Although it was quite late for them, given the time difference, Chuck had never been to the nation's capital, so Sarah took him out to Georgetown for dinner. The drive there was somewhat meandering, as she took him past many of the landmarks he'd only seen in pictures. The White House, the Capitol Building, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial. Chuck loved it all.

Following a wonderful meal and a bottle of wine at a small bistro that Sarah liked, they were both pretty tired. After a relaxing stroll through the narrow streets of that quiet, high-priced neighborhood, they decided to go to bed early. They had to negotiate what time to set the alarm for. They had a very busy day coming up, but also wanted to get some much needed rest. On the plane from Switzerland, Sarah had made a checklist of all the things she had to do in Washington to relocate to Burbank permanently, while Chuck had prepared slides about cracking into the new iPhones for his presentation to the tech guys that Beckman and Graham had arranged.

He groaned into her hair and said, "We have to start moving around."

"Five more minutes," she said, holding him tighter.

He kissed the top of her head and said, "You sleep. I'll go take a shower."

"No," she said, refusing to let go. "You're not taking a shower alone. That's no fun."

"I thought we decided long ago that showering together does not save time," he said with a chuckle, stroking her bare back.

"So? It doesn't, but we are going to be really busy today. I don't want to start the day with a lonely shower. That just makes the rest of the day sucky," she groused. She lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed him long and hard and enough to wake all of him up. Looking down to see what she'd accomplished, she gave a satisfied grin and said, "Ok. Now I'm ready for a shower. Wanna come along?"

"You know I do," he responded with enthusiasm.

Once showered and dressed, Sarah ran downstairs to get them coffee and egg sandwiches from a deli while Chuck built the boxes they had bought. They began to pack the apartment. It wasn't quite as huge a task as it might have seemed. The apartment had been rented furnished, complete with kitchen ware. Otherwise, there was little in the way of personal stuff. It was almost spartan. Sarah didn't have any pictures on the walls, no knick-knacks on shelves, not even a plant. The only books were her college textbooks. The apartment was almost as sterile as one of those extended stay hotel rooms before the guest occupied.

When he asked her about it, she said, "Yeah...well, this was just a place I stayed between missions. I wasn't settled here or anything. I have no real feelings for it. This is the place where I kept my stuff...and I don't have tons of stuff..." she saw the look on his face and said, "Ok, I have a lot of clothes and shoes. But otherwise not too much stuff. It's fine, this place...There's nothing wrong with it, I just don't care about it. Chuck, I wasn't kidding about our place. It's a home, not just a place to keep my stuff. It's my home. This place.. No...but, with you...With you I'm home. You are the difference...you're my home, Chuck. You're my home. With you I feel safe."

She looked at him seriously and sweetly and with just so much love in her eyes. He put down the packing tape he'd been holding and took her in his arms. He kissed her softly and said, "I feel the same way about you, sweetie. You mean everything in the world to me."

They broke the kiss and went back to packing, but they kept looking at each other with loving glances for a while, until Sarah threw a dishtowel at him and said, with a grin, "You big sap." That got them both laughing.

Chuck borrowed a handtruck from the management office and began to move boxes to the back of the rented SUV. Everything fit, with some room to spare. While he was loading the truck, Sarah was throwing away whatever items they were not going to ship to California. Once the apartment was empty of Sarah's belongings, and they had given it a quick sweep to tidy up, they gave the keys and the handtruck back to the managing agent and left the building for the last time.

The first stop was a storage unit Sarah had rented in case she needed go to ground with a new identity. They had to go through it to collect the stuff that she could re-use for an identity from California and throw away the balance of the items. She'd have to make the same preparations on the west coast, but this storage unit was not going to be useful here in DC any more. She'd be unable to do the necessary upkeep to keep it active from thousands of miles away. Now that the unit was empty, she would cancel it at the end of the month. She debated emptying two other small caches of useful things she had secreted around town and decided against it. Who knows if they might ever come in handy?

The next stop was her bank. She emptied the safe deposit box and closed that arrangement with the bank. She'd close the account totally, but she had to wait for all the outstanding checks to clear first. She could do that bit from Burbank though.

The visit to a parcel delivery service to drop off all the boxes that they were shipping was relatively painless. There were still a number of boxes in the back of the SUV, but those weren't being shipped commercially.

Now a little pressed for time, Sarah hoped for easy traffic for the drive into Maryland. Luckily, the Baltimore Washington Parkway heading north was quiet at that time of the morning, after the morning rush. At the Annapolis Junction, still south of Baltimore, they got off the highway and entered the United States Army Base of Fort Meade, using their government ID badges to make it easily past the guards, who, in any event, had been given their names in advance by the NSA.

Chuck marveled at the sheer size of the government facility, being about eight square miles. He knew that a number of government and military organizations were housed there, from the United States Army Field Band to the National Security Agency that they were visiting this morning. The NSA building itself was an enormous black glass box surrounded by a vast ocean of parking spaces.

One of General Beckman's aides, a nondescript man by the name of Berkley, met them at the entrance. They showed their government ID's to the security guards in the lobby and were authorized to pass through with specially encoded visitor's badges. The badges indicated that they were not NSA employees, but not civilians either, and were permitted to venture throughout most of the building.

Berkley took them through the building to a small auditorium on an upper floor where the General met them. "Good morning, Agent Walker, Mr. Carmichael." She was careful to use his code name around the other agents in the hallway.

"Good morning, Ma'am," they said.

"Thank you for coming to talk to our people, Chuck. The techniques that you share with them are going to do a lot of good."

"My pleasure, Ma'am. Always happy to talk to a bunch of nerds."

"Well, I think you will find the technical people a pretty receptive audience. They were shocked that you could do it at all and delighted that you were coming to show them how."

Looking at his watch, Berkley said, "We should probably get inside, General."

"Alright, Berkley. Let's go," said the General.

There were people standing around the hallway, crowding into the room. Berkley elbowed them aside and led Chuck, Sarah and Beckman to the front row, where seats had been reserved for them. Sarah gave Chuck a quick kiss and wished him luck.

Chuck spent a couple of minutes setting up his computer to use the giant screen behind him as a monitor.

Chuck had expected maybe a dozen people from the NSA and CIA's technical departments to hear what he had to say about cracking the iPhone, maybe a couple of dozen at the most. He was quite surprised, though. There were well over a hundred men and women crowded into the room. Every seat was taken and there were people standing in the back and in the aisles along the side. He began to get a bit nervous. Berkley hooked him up with a microphone and looked at him questioningly. Chuck gave him a thumbs up.

Berkley started, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We have a visitor today who has something to explain to us about how to access the newer Apple iPhone. As you know, without the password, those phones are impossible to access. And, we don't often get the password. So, until last week, they were a black box to us. But this gentleman, Mr. Charles Carmichael, has apparently cracked the problem. He has agreed to visit us today to explain how it's done. Mr. Carmichael..."

Chuck stood up and said, "Good morning, everybody. Thanks for coming. And thank you, Mr. Berkley. So, they've asked me to talk about how to crack the new iPhone. Wow... a lot of people here. I don't really talk to audiences and stuff very often. This is sort of new to me, so I'm a little nervous. I was talking to General Beckman before coming out here. She told me not to be too smart, too funny, or too charming … in other words she just told me to be myself." Chuck gave them an engaging grin as the audience laughed.

From his laptop, Chuck pulled up a circuit diagram onto the big screen at the front of the room. "So, here's the circuitry in the back of one of those phones. I'll bet many of you are familiar with circuit diagrams, but for those who aren't..." Chuck began to explain the electronics of the phone. The electrical engineers in the audience knew what he was talking about and followed along easily. His enthusiasm and good humor was contagious. He explained things simply and clearly and kept the audience laughing throughout. After about ten minutes, he switched out the circuit diagram for a schematic of the software on the phone. The software engineers in the audience knew what he was talking about and followed along easily. After another ten minutes, he explained how the software and the hardware fit together to leave a tiny gap that could be exploited to open the phone with a minor adjustment to the circuitry. Both the electrical engineers and software engineers were shocked at the answer that none of them had figured out on their own. He smiled to see so many nodding heads in the audience.

"Great. Looks like you are all with me." He grinned engagingly. "I know...pretty cool, right? I love it when we solve a puzzle like this. Excellent. Now, I know you'll all go upstairs and pop open your iPhones and start messing around. Just want you to know that this technique breaks the phone, so don't do it to your own phones, guys. I don't want to get in trouble with your parents when you try to explain that you broke your phone and they couldn't call you." More laughter. "Anybody have any questions?"

The first man to raise his hand had three PhD's was the head of the technical department for the NSA. He asked, with a bit of a smile, "Mr. Carmichael, is it true that you came up with this solution in the back of a car?"

Chuck looked a little embarrassed and said, "Well, yes...but, it was a Mercedes." The audience laughed again.

A man asked, "Will this work on other phones?"

"I don't know. I only looked at the phone on the mission I was on. I'd have to check out the circuitry on the other phones..." Chuck looked pensive and gave a bit of a shrug.

The next questioner said, "How'd you disarm the bomb in Union Station a few months ago?"

"Well, I didn't really. The bomb squad disarmed the bomb. I just stopped the countdown until they could get there and save everybody. That wasn't too hard. The trigger was also a phone, so I broke it. I broke the phone. They are tough to fix, but actually pretty easy to break. You guys can see that, from what I did to the iPhone we're talking about today." Again, he got the crowd laughing. "No, actually, I looped the countdown clock so it was stuck. It didn't leave the number it was on. We had to keep the signal alive or...well, boom... and that would be bad."

The first man asked another question, "May I ask where you earned your PhD, Mr. Carmicheal?"

More than a little startled by the question, Chuck glanced up at Beckman who shook her head. "Sorry, Sir. Not allowed to talk about myself too much. You guys understand...secret and stuff. Figure you guys from No Such Agency would appreciate that." Once again, the room started to laugh.

The next questioner shouted out her question amidst the general laughter, "Can't even tell us if you're single?"

Without even thinking about it, Sarah snapped her head around to find the woman who had shouted the question and bellowed angrily, "HE'S NOT."

The entire room erupted in even more laughter, while Chuck just smiled and blushed.

With no further questions, Berkley thanked Chuck for the talk and the crowd began to break up. Chuck was immediately surrounded by a dozen or so scientists from both the NSA and the CIA eager to talk to him more about the technical aspects of some of what he'd been working on. Sarah pushed her way through that crowd and went up to him.

"Great job, sweetie," she said and gave him a resounding kiss. "I'm proud of you." The scientists crowding around him were stunned. Chuck was a little discomfited with the PDA, but not so much that he didn't enjoy the kiss. Sarah put one arm around his waist and melted into his side. If anyone still wondered if he were single, there was no more doubt about that particular question. More than one of the scientist's mouths hung open in awe. Had there been a vote at that moment for king of the nerds, Chuck's coronation would have been immediate and unanimous. A few of them looked like they wanted to pick him up on their shoulders and carry him around the room. At the same time, more than a few members of the audience knew of Agent Walker's reputation and were shocked at what they had seen. Either the Ice Queen was human after all or this Carmichael guy must be pretty hot shit, or maybe both.

The scientists introduced themselves and thanked him for the presentation. One of them wanted to talk about the software patch Chuck had created for the tracker watch to have it provide information in three dimensions. One of them was interested in the device he'd created that would trigger an alarm if a transmitter (other than a cell phone) entered the area, effectively shielding the area from eavesdropping devices. Several of them were interested in learning what other projects he was working on.

During the conversations, Sarah never left his side. Among the scientists were four women. Sarah wasn't taking any chances. It wasn't that she didn't trust Chuck. She absolutely trusted him. Her motivation was as instinctive as an animal marking its territory. If Chuck was uncomfortable with her possessiveness, he gave no indication. One of the men, the man who had asked the first question and was in charge of the technical department at the NSA, asked for Chuck's card and asked permission to call him occasionally for his judgement on thorny technical problems they faced. When Beckman silently nodded her approval, Chuck smiled and said of course, but he would have to get in contact through the General, as Chuck didn't carry cards.

He was in his element and with his people. They made jokes about circuitry that were apparently hilarious (something to do with a guy named Ohm). They asked him if this or that project they were working on had promise. They wanted to know what he thought of certain equipment in the field. One of them made a Star Wars reference that Chuck carried to the next level. Sarah knew she wasn't really included in the by-play among Chuck and his new friends (for there was no other way to describe these people), but it didn't bother her. She was just so happy to see him so happy and at ease.

It took about twenty minutes for the crowd around Chuck to disburse. Once they were pretty much alone again, General Beckman said, "Thank you for that, Chuck. I thought it went very well. Will you stay for lunch?"

"Certainly, General. It would be our pleasure," said Chuck. He and Sarah had discussed the possibility that Beckman would invite them and agreed beforehand to accept the offer.

General Beckman led them through the vast facility to the executive dining room on the top floor. It was a large wood paneled room with white table clothes on the tables and quiet attentive waiters and waitresses in attendance.

Once they had been seated, Beckman said, "Well I think that went well. I didn't understand what you were talking about, but the techies did and they certainly appreciated it. Despite your warnings, I think there will be a rash of broken iPhones coming up soon."

Chuck laughed softly and said, "Yeah, that's why I warned them. Nerds like us enjoy taking things apart to see how they work. When they try to do what I told them about, well, the phone won't be good for calls anymore." Chuck shrugged. "But, on the plus side, you can learn what's saved on it."

"Which is what we intelligence officers need sometimes," said Beckman.

"I have to say, though, General, I was surprised," said Chuck. The waitress came and took their orders.

"Surprised by what, Chuck?" asked Beckman.

"By the number of people. You have a larger tech contingent than I expected."

"Oh, no. This is the NSA. We have tons of technical people. And you have to add the CIA's scientists too. They were invited as well. But that's not why it was crowded. Those weren't all technical people."

"I don't understand. If it wasn't technical people, who was at the talk?"

"Spies, Chuck. Spies from the NSA and CIA. A lot of these people couldn't care less about how to crack a phone, but when they heard that you were giving a talk they just wanted to get a look at Carmichael. Think about it, Chuck. Nobody knows him from training or has ever been on a mission with this agent. He pops up out of thin air. Suddenly he's the hero of Union Station and starts pulling off some pretty extraordinary successes. La Ciudad. The White Dragons. Kirk. Word hasn't even spread about Selenica yet. He's partnered with the best agent the CIA has and the best the NSA has. The two best agents the country can field, partnered with an enigma. A ghost. Who is this guy? Where'd he come from? Where did he get his training? Christ...is he even American? That's what a lot of them are here to see. To see who you are."

Sarah said, "Guess you can't blame them too much. When you put it that way, I'd be curious too."

"Exactly," said Beckman, as their lunch arrived.

"Well, those guys were probably disappointed with what they found," said Chuck with a sheepish smile.

"Why?" asked Sarah.

"Well, they were looking for a James Bond super-spy and then ended up finding a kind of a goofy Q instead," said Chuck with a bit of a laugh.

"Maybe," said Beckman seriously, shrugging a shoulder. "But the results speak for themselves. The ones with any brains are probably re-thinking their ideas of what a super-spy brings to the table. What makes you special."

"Thank you, but...from everything you've said, General, the ...reason I came to your attention in the first place. That ...circumstance. That's not known... internally, I mean." Chuck had hesitated to talk about the Intersect aloud, even in that location.

"It's not. That project isn't well known outside the circle of people involved with it. And that's deliberate. Knowing that Fulcrum is after it, the less well known the details are the better," said Beckman. "Having said that, Fulcrum knew all about it the first time around. We know that from the interrogation that commenced Operation Thirty," she said, referring to Bryce's undercover mission with Fulcrum. "We are doing our best to keep the continuation of the project even more secure."

"Must be frustrating that they were able to access it," said Sarah.

"Yes. Fulcrum had managed to conceal Zarnow's traitorous activities and use him to learn about it. With the penetration that they have apparently accomplished against us...well, let's just say that I worry as much about them as I do about Al Qaeda at this point."

"What's the status of the project? You know...to make more of ….well, me,...if I may ask," said Chuck.

She gave a mirthless chuckle and said, "Yes. You of all people have the right to ask. It's progressing. Larkin set us back a long way, but not to square one. All the effort figuring out how to code, how to set things up, that had been done. All the false starts and dead ends are eliminated this time around. Now it's just the brute work of putting it all together. A huge task, but quicker the second time around."

"So, you'll be trying again soon?" asked Chuck.

"With volunteers this time?" asked Sarah, with a small undercurrent of criticism.

"Yes, we are probably a month or so away from another attempt. And yes, Agent Walker, with volunteers this time around. We are keeping the set up inside this building and trying to disguise it as something else." Beckman wore a sour expression as she answered Sarah's question, as if the thought of the circumstances leading to Chuck's downloading the Intersect was deeply distasteful. "But in the meantime, Chuck, you remain the only one."

"Happy to help, Ma'am," said Chuck.

"I know you are. And we thank you. You didn't sign up for any of this and stepped up when duty called. You have earned our gratitude and respect. You should know that." Chuck started to say something, but Beckman held up a hand to stop him. "And just for the record, the work you have done for us...and done exceptionally well, is not even substantially related to that thing in your head. Hell, Chuck, the presentation you just gave to a roomful of PhD's is a perfect example. That has zero to do with ...it...with the database. Graham was right to offer you a spot at the Farm. With or without what you downloaded, you have a tremendous amount to offer your country."

"Thank you, General."

Sarah was surprised. She couldn't wait to talk to Casey and tell him that his buttoned-up boss was sitting there over iced tea and sandwiches and singing Chuck's praises.

"Have you given any thought to taking him up on his offer?" asked Beckman.

"I'm still considering it, Ma'am. It's a very generous offer," said Chuck, dodging the question. He thought he should give his answer directly to Graham, as it was Graham who asked him. It just seemed to be the polite thing to do.

"Not generous at all. Pure self-interest. I'm just annoyed I didn't think of it first. To try to get you over here, I mean," she said. She really did look annoyed, but that seemed to be her resting face.

"Thank you, General," said Chuck.

"Your team has pretty busy lately. Monday you collected the SP-117 from your asset. Tuesday you stopped the Selenica bomb plot. Sunday you helped the French stop Federov. Today you are here lecturing. That's not too bad for a week's work."

Chuck grinned at her and said, "To tell the truth, Ma'am, I'm having the time of my life. I love what I'm doing with Sarah and Casey." He reached out and took Sarah's hand and said, "And I love my girlfriend. I would never say everything is perfect. That's just asking for trouble. Total jinx. So, how about I just say, things are pretty damn good right now?"

He and Sarah looked at each other with small smiles and love in their eyes as they intertwined their fingers.

Sarah said, nodding, "Pretty damn good."

XXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: I want to thank my friend HighFidelity for his suggestions on the Fort Meade presentation that Chuck did. I hope I did his ideas justice.

A/N3: In real life, the National Security Agency is so secret that people joke that NSA stands for "No Such Agency."


	81. Chapter 81

A/N: If you took a tour of Warner Brother's Studio in Burbank, do you think they would show you ownership of Chuck?

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Chuck and Sarah parked the large SUV on the quiet street in Falls Church, Virginia behind a black SUV with government plates and tinted windows. It would have been a leafy street in warmer weather, but the January trees lacked that coverage. The sun set early this time of year and it was already getting dark. Although there was no snow cover on the lawns, there were still small piles of white on the edges of the street and by the corners of the driveways.

Leaving the car, Sarah and Chuck walked up to the SUV in front of them just as two men got out. Jerry Barker and another man greeted them. Sarah expected that there was a third security officer located inside, or maybe behind, the house.

"Evening, Agent Walker," Barker said with a smile.

Sarah smiled back, "Agent Barker. Good to see you again. This is Agent Carmichael."

Barker reached out his hand and said with a pleasant smile, "Good to finally meet you, Carmichael."

"How do you do, Agent Barker?" replied Chuck.

Barker said, "This is Agent Simmons." He gestured to the African American man in his thirties standing next to him.

Shaking hands, Simmons said, "How do you do Agent Walker? Agent Carmichael?"

"Good to meet you," said Sarah. Turning to Barker she asked, "The Director expecting us?"

"Yeah, expecting you both. Whole family's there," said Barker. "Have a good night. Nice meeting you Carmichael."

"You too," said Chuck.

As Sarah and Chuck walked away to head up the path to the large old house, Simmons said to Barker, "I thought he'd be older."

The front door was opened by Anna Graham, an African American woman in her sixties with graying hair and a radiant smile.

Chuck could tell Sarah was a tiny bit nervous, but, even so, she gave the older woman a big smile and said, "Hi, Anna."

"Hello, yourself. Come here." She wrapped Sarah in a huge hug. Chuck thought that the hug lasted a little longer than he would have expected. Anna Graham broke the hug and held Sarah at arms length with her hands on Sarah's shoulders. "Too long," she said softly.

"I'll do better, Anna. From now on. I promise," said Sarah.

Anna Graham smiled warmly at her and squeezed her shoulders. Then the older woman turned to Chuck and, if anything, her smile got bigger. "And you are the famous Chuck..." she glanced over Chuck's shoulder at the parked SUV and lowered her voice to a bit of a whisper, "...Bartowski. The man who won Sarah's heart. I can't even tell you how happy I am to meet you, Chuck."

"Pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Graham. Thank you for having us for dinner."

"You call me Anna, Chuck." she said shaking his hand with a smile.

Grinning, he said, "Thanks, Anna. These are for you." He handed her a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine in a shiny mylar gift bag.

"Well, thank you. The flowers are beautiful and you better believe we'll drink the wine. Come on in out of the cold."

They stepped inside the large, comfortable house as Anna yelled, "Sarah and Chuck are here." She led them into the living room and introduced Chuck to the family. Graham, himself, of course, Chuck knew. There was his son, Kevin, who was as tall as his father, but slender and fit looking. Kevin's wife, Mickey, a pretty woman in her thirties. She was holding her squirming two-year old daughter introduced as Tory, short for Victoria, he was told. Off to the side, somewhat shy, was their seven-year old son, Jimmy. And finally, Graham and Anna's other child, their daughter Karen. Karen seemed to be two or three years younger than Chuck and Sarah.

The greetings Chuck got were warm and polite, except for Karen who wrapped him in hug and kissed him on the cheek with a huge smile. The greetings Sarah got, though, were for a family member who has been away for a while and just returned home. Warm hugs and touches. Gentle chiding about being a stranger. Jimmy was shy around her, notwithstanding his mother's admonitions, "Come on. You remember Aunt Sarah." Baby Tory though, had apparently never met Sarah and hugged her mother tight with her face turned away when presented with the new people.

Chuck wondered about what he was seeing. In keeping with his determination not to probe into her past, he knew he wouldn't ask. She'd tell him if and when she was ready to tell him, but he thought that what he was seeing was unusual, to say the least. She was not one of Graham's agents come to his home for a dinner with her boss. She was a member of the family. And Chuck, by virtue of his relationship with her, was now a member of the family as well. So far as he could tell, Graham and Sarah had always had a respectful, friendly, professional relationship, but he now understood that the professional relationship they showed others (including he and Casey) was a mask for a much deeper and more personal relationship that had somehow arisen. To say he was curious would be an understatement.

Kevin said, "Sarah, still white wine?" Sarah nodded. "Chuck, my mom and dad are drinking scotch and I'm drinking vodka. What can I get you? Wine or beer is available too, but I thought you should know that at least some of us are starting with the hard stuff, in case you are in the mood to join us, dude. I don't know your preferences."

"Thanks, Kevin. A glass of wine would be great. Can I help you get it? With your own drink you don't have enough hands."

"Sure, come on," he said, leading Chuck to a far corner of the room where a bar was set up.

Graham said, "Sit down, everybody. How'd it go today, Sarah?"

Sarah gave a quick laugh, "Busy day. You know I submitted the paperwork to establish my permanent residence in Burbank?" Graham and Anna both nodded. "So, today we cleaned out the apartment here and shipped everything west. Safe deposit box, all that stuff. Everything."

Taking a sip of her scotch, Anna Graham said, "Maybe you'll visit more now that you live farther away." It was a gentle tease, eased by a grin.

"I got it, Anna," said Sarah, with a look. "I will. Anyway, then we had Chuck's talk at Fort Meade. I think it went well. It was a full house."

"It went very well. The tech guys were blown away. I spoke to the General before I left the office. She said that her top technical guy was begging her to get Chuck in house there. Begging. He was pulling out all the stops. She put him off, obviously. I also have two messages from our top scientist who attended the talk. I have a feeling I know what he's going to ask me."

Sarah was looking at Chuck's back as he and Kevin were pouring drinks and chatting quietly. "Yeah, he's pretty special." Anna and Graham exchanged a look. Karen looked at Sarah with unconcealed joy.

"So, what then?" asked Anna.

"We had lunch with General Beckman. Then we left and checked into a hotel at the airport. We have an early flight. I had some firearms to ship west, so we stopped by Langley and I turned them in to some of the logistics people. I didn't trust Fed Ex or UPS or whatever with that stuff."

Chuck sat down next to her on the love seat and handed her the glass of wine. "Some? Man, you had a ton. And all kinds. We could open a shooting range at home."

Graham said, "Part of the job, Chuck. We aren't supposed to be more than thirty feet from a weapon at any time. Even at home." Anna gave him an elbow and glanced at the children. He looked suitably abashed.

"I understand, Sir," said Chuck, trying not to look around the living room too blatantly in an effort to find the weapons there.

"Chuck, when we have a conference call tomorrow or whenever... you can call me 'Sir' or "Director.' Tonight, I think Langston is fine," he said with a smile.

Chuck smiled back, and said, "Thank you, Langston. So, the rest of the day...we only had a couple of hours left before dinner, but we had time for a quick stop at the Air and Space Museum. Man, that was just the coolest museum ever." Chuck's enthusiasm was plain for all to see.

Jimmy Graham, the seven year old, piped up and said, "I love that one. It's my favorite."

"Totally, Jimmy," he said, as he reached out to give a high five to the happy boy. "I think it's my favorite too. The next time I come to visit Washington I want to spend all day there. What is your favorite part?" Chuck asked.

Jimmy was grinning like crazy, so happy to be able to join in the adult conversation. "I like the planes. Did you see the X-1?"

"I did. Glennis. So cool. I loved that stuff," said Chuck.

"When I grow up I want to be a pilot," said Jimmy.

"Did you know your Aunt Sarah is a pilot?" asked Chuck.

"So's my dad. He flies bombers for the Air Force," said Jimmy, gesturing towards his dad.

Chuck looked up at Kevin startled, "I didn't know that."

Sarah said, with a laugh in her voice, "He taught me to fly, Jimmy. Your dad taught me."

"He's gonna teach me, one day," said Jimmy.

"Yes, he is," said Sarah. "Hey, Kev, your dad got me a ride in a Citation X the other day."

"Fastest civilian plane. And?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"It's nice. I was talking to the pilots. They work for the Agency. They agreed to take me out in it. Work me through a checkout."

With a bit of a smug smirk, he said, "And?"

"And I've been busy. Ok? I don't even have the book yet. Jeez, you are such a pain."

Mickey, who had been quiet for a while, tending to a squirming Tory, said, "Yeah. Tell me about it." Everyone laughed.

"What book, Aunt Sarah?" asked Jimmy.

"If you want to learn to fly a new aircraft, one you haven't flown before, you have to read the book they make to teach you about that particular plane. They can be pretty different from one another. The book is called the operating manual."

"Seriously, Sar. It's cool. I know my dad keeps you busy. Every time one of us asks about you, that's what he says. 'I'm keeping her busy.' It's cool. But if you want to learn the Citation, just do it. Don't procrastinate."

Sarah looked to Langston and Anna. They looked back and Langston said, with a shrug, "So? You were right. He is a pain in the.." He glanced at the children. "...neck." Everyone laughed.

"He sure is," said Sarah. "You are a total... I can't say it in front of Tory," she said with a laugh.

"Buster," said Jimmy, laughing at his dad being teased.

"What's that?" asked Chuck.

"It's what people call my dad when they don't call him by his name," said Jimmy.

"Well, yeah. 'Buster' is my call sign," said Kevin. "Professionally, that is. At least when they let me fly."

"When they let you?" asked Chuck.

"Oh, don't get him started," said Anna.

"Seriously," said Mickey.

"I've been assigned to the Pentagon. That's why we're here in DC. I'm sitting at a desk. It's a waste of a pilot," griped Kevin.

"It's a use of a good mind, Kevin," said Langston.

Mickey rolled her eyes and said, "Here we go." And a spirited discussion was begun about Kevin's professional development in the Air Force. It was clear that this was ground that had been plowed repeatedly. The discussion hadn't ended by the time Anna called the family and their guests to dinner.

Chuck and Sarah were seated on either side of Langston. Karen, Mickey and Kevin were helping Anna in the kitchen. Sarah offered to help and was firmly told to sit. The meal was chicken parmigiana with penne on the side. Several bottles of red wine were put out on the table.

Sarah smiled and said, "Oh, my favorite."

"I didn't know that, sweetie. I'll try it when we get home. I know it won't be as good as Anna's, but maybe I can come in second," said Chuck.

Karen started to laugh, "Oh, my God. This is so cool. Sarah has a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. And we get to meet him. First time ever. This gives me hope for my love life."

"Wait a second, do you mean to say, if even a loser like Sarah can get a guy there's hope for you too? Cause that's what I thought I heard," said Sarah.

Giggling, Karen said, "Of course not. Not loser...I mean not totally anyway..."

"Hey..." said Sarah, laughing.

"Oh, I'm not sure you should be the judge of this one, K," said Kevin.

"Oh, get off my back, Kev," she said with a laugh.

"Well, that new guy...what's his name...?" said Kevin.

"Almo," said Mickey.

"The one with the tattoo on his face," said Langston. "That's a perfect way to make sure you never have a job in an office. Get a face tattoo."

"He wants to be a kindergarten teacher," said Karen, defending Almo.

"Gotta agree with dad on this one, K. A face tattoo. Really?" said Kevin.

"Is he a boxer? Like Mike Tyson? He has a face tattoo," said Jimmy.

"No, not like Mike Tyson, Jim," said Karen. "What can I say, guys? It's not easy to meet people."

"If I may ask, Anna," said Chuck, "how did you and Langton meet?"

"We met at work. I was a spy. I was working deep cover in Malta at a bank. I have a Masters in International Finance, so it was easy to handle that bit. It was the height of the Cold War and I was trying to gather evidence that the KGB was using the bank to fund the Red Brigades terrorists. They were causing trouble in Western Europe at the time. My cover was blown and they sent Langston in with a team to pull me out. The extraction went wrong and we ended up having to go to ground in a safe house for a week. Anyway, one thing led to another and we started dating. When we got married I was still an agent. We were a team. I didn't retire from the job until I had Kevin."

"Retire?" said Karen. "You didn't really retire. From the CIA yeah, but you just started doing other stuff. Heck, Mom, you're busier now than you've ever been with all the charity stuff you do." She turned to Sarah and said, "She turned your old room into another home office filled with paperwork."

The conversation over dinner went back and forth over many topics. The election was a hot topic, with primary season in full swing for both the Republicans and the Democrats. The agreement around the table was that the Republicans best bet was McCain, whose reputation as a maverick made it most likely that he could avoid being tarred by association with the deeply unpopular current President.

Jimmy asked to be excused, and soon afterward the sounds of a video game came to them through the doorway.

Kevin had just finished telling a somewhat embarrassing story about Karen, to the amusement of the rest of the table. Karen said, "Oh, come on. No picking on Karen any more. Dad, tell a story about Sarah. How about that one from college? With the boat?"

"Oh, no," said Sarah, putting her face in her hands.

"Well, there was that time when you stole the boat," said Langston.

"Borrowed," said Sarah.

"What boat?" asked Chuck.

"Uggghhh. I hate you all," said Sarah.

Graham settled down and smiled, as if he was really looking forward to the story. "So, Sarah and her roommate, Rachel, had finished exams...I think it was junior year...Anyway, the two of them had finished exams and were celebrating in Boston. They'd had more than a little bit to drink. In fact, it was the middle of the afternoon on a work day, but they were totally hammered. They couldn't get a cab by the harbor, and they wanted to get back to their dorm room for some reason..."

"We needed to change clothes for a party that night," said Sarah.

"Right. Anyway, down at the harbor and no cabs in sight. So, Sarah decided to steal a boat and sail it up the Charles River back to Cambridge..."

"It was Rachel's idea.." said Sarah.

"She sounds like Carina," said Chuck.

"Yeah, those two'd get along," said Sarah.

"Anyway, I don't know if you're familiar with Boston Harbor or the Charles, but this is a very busy waterway. So, these two drunk girls make it past the all guards at the marina, and three locked gates, jump start a boat and take off. They make it all the way up the river and tie the boat off to a tree on the riverbank near Harvard. Sarah insisted that they stop to fill the boat with gas."

Sarah hung her head, but kept a small smile. She said, "We weren't really stealing the boat. We just borrowed it. I wanted to return it full of gas. It just seemed to be the polite thing to do. At least when you are really, really drunk. Mojitos."

Laughing, Chuck said, "Did you get in trouble?"

"Naw, I never did get caught. But when I sobered up, I made sure that the owner got his boat back," she said, looking at Graham. "With a full tank of gas."

"You don't think that the woman who ended up as the best spy I have would get caught for lifting a boat? Come on, Chuck. Even then she was better than that." Everyone laughed.

It was sometime later, dinner was over and Chuck and Jimmy were playing Super Mario together in the living room. Sarah was sipping her coffee and watching them from the doorway behind the sofa when Anna came over and put her arm around Sarah's waist.

"Thanks for bringing him to meet us," said Anna quietly. Sarah looked at her warmly and gave her a one armed hug as she nodded her head. "He's wonderful. I can see why you fell for him. And he is head over heels in love with you. When you met him, I think it changed everything for you. People always say someone wasn't ready to find the right one. Maybe, I don't know. Did you have to be ready before you could find Chuck? I have no idea. But you did find him. You found each other. It's changed you, Sarah. You are happier and more at peace than I've ever seen you."

"I am," said Sarah, softly.

"I've known you for almost ten years now. From the day I met you at your high school graduation to now...being the CIA's top spy. As driven as you were and as successful as you became, there was always something … I don't know. A connection to others. To other people...not that you were standoffish, that's not what I'm saying...I guess it was a reserve. As if there was a part of yourself you held back and just didn't want to share. The whole time you were with us, you never even unpacked…unpacked your suitcases. That used to make me cry, you know. It was like you wanted to be ready to leave us on a moment's notice. And then when you graduated and moved on to working, you were a stranger again. Only occasionally visiting or calling. That reserve is gone now, Sarah. You are now the open, loving person you've always been meant to be. I can see it. Langston saw it when he went out to see you after Thanksgiving. I wasn't sure if I could believe him, but it was true. For sure." Anna wiped a happy tear away from her eye with the back of her hand. "I'm so happy for you, dear. So very happy."

Sarah put down her coffee mug, turned and gave the older woman a full hug. She whispered, "Me too."

Both women felt a tug at their pants' legs and looked down. Tory was there with her arms raised. "Hug too, please."

Sarah smiled at the little girl, happy that her previous shyness had been put aside, and said, "Of course, sweetie. Here we go." The little girl was lifted off the floor to join the hug of her grandma and her Aunt Sarah, giggling with happiness.

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A/N2: The X-1 was the first plane to break the sound barrier. Chuck called it Glennis because the pilot, the first man to break the sound barrier, Chuck Yaeger, named it after his wife (Glamorous Glennis). As of this writing (2/2020), Brigadier General Chuck Yaeger is still alive.


	82. Chapter 82

A/N: Welcome to start of the twelfth arc of New Day, which I'm calling the Lizzie arc. (I know she has a last name, but she's better known by just the one name. Like Madonna or Eminem.) This arc will have some serious repercussions for our friends, so fasten your seatbelts.

A/N2: I hope ownership of Chuck isn't kept in the prop department of Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank. It's a real mess in there.

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"I'm telling you, he's a very bad man," said Chuck.

"I have dealt with drug lords, hit men, and psychopaths..." said Sarah.

"No, worse," said Chuck.

"Chuck..." she started.

"No, Walker. Bartowski is right. Really bad. If I thought I could come up with plausible deniability I'd have taken him out months ago." Chuck gave Casey a look like, 'are you insane?' Casey saw the look and said, innocently, "What?"

"Even if Harry Tang is as bad as you say, I'm sure Amy will be able to handle him. She's a professional spy after all. Being a Buy More greenshirt should be a piece of cake," said Sarah.

"I just feel bad putting her in that situation, that's all," said Chuck, taking a bite of his asparagus and burrata frittata that Sarah had made for them.

"Well, she hasn't complained yet," said Sarah. "It's almost three weeks since she and Casey got back from Switzerland and he got her the job. That's more than enough time to see the problem and bitch about it. From what you told me, she handled those idiots Jeff and Lester like a champ."

"I know, but ever since Tang's been made Assistant Manager he's been insufferable," said Chuck.

Sarah sipped her coffee and said, "A job you should have had." Their coffee was much better now that they had begun to buy it at the same store Casey had found.

"Naw," said Casey. "How was he gonna get that job? He's out doing shit with us more than he's there. Big Mike has no problem with it...he gets paid for all the offsite calls Chuck is supposedly making...but he's just not physically there so much anymore. He wouldn't even want it. Who needs the added responsibility when we have real work to do?"

"Casey's right, Sweetie. The Ass Man responsibilities would just be a distraction," said Chuck.

"I wish you wouldn't call it that. It sounds like you are in junior high," complained Sarah.

Casey said, "But Ass Man fits Tang. He's taken to the Ass Man responsibilities like he was born to be the Ass Man. He's probably the Ass Man poster child for all Ass …"

"Oh, for God's sake, stop, Casey," said Sarah laughing.

They started to clear the breakfast dishes. The morning has started well. It was a beautiful clear day in Los Angeles and they had taken advantage of the morning cool to go for a long run. Chuck knew he'd feel it the next day and made a note to stretch pretty well later. The morning's intel packets had been light and Chuck hadn't flashed more than a few times.

"Hey," he said, "how's the new girl at the Wienerlicious? The one Scooter hired while we were away?"

"Woman, Moron. New woman. 'Girl' is demeaning," said Casey.

"You're right. Woman."

"Lizzie. Yeah, she's ok, I guess. She keeps wanting to be friends..."

"But you don't sound like you want to," said Chuck, putting his plate in the sink.

Sarah shrugged. "Yeah. Well, she's trying too hard. I just don't like her, and..."

"What?" asked Chuck.

"I know it's petty, but it's her outfit. She deliberately got it one size too small so it's really tight. And then wears it with a button opened. More cleavage. She just looks a little slutty, that's all. I know I shouldn't judge on that basis, but …"

"That explains why Jeff and Lester are going crazy about hot dogs lately," said Chuck.

"Well, those two pervs would stalk any woman with a pulse. It's a wonder they haven't been sued yet," said Casey.

"Or arrested," said Chuck.

There was a knock at the door and Chuck answered it to find Devon. "Hey, Chuckster. Can I talk to you a sec?" Surprisingly, he looked nervous. Chuck wasn't sure he'd ever seen Devon nervous.

"Sure, Dev. Come on in. What's up?"

"Ummm, can we talk privately? Maybe by the fountain?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Turning to Casey and Sarah, he said, "I'm just stepping outside for a second."

They sat on the edge of the fountain and Chuck said, "What's on your mind?"

"I was hoping to talk to you about Ellie," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," said Chuck, quite confused.

"Well, ever since we've been dating...I think of you as the younger brother I never had..."

"Don't you have two younger brothers?"

"Indeed..indeed. But you seem like someone who can offer sage wisdom in confusing times. And this is one of those times I am really confused, bro. I don't know how to put this into words really...it's one of those rare moments when things are not kosher, Chuck. Oh, man, this is harder than I thought."

"Go on, I'm listening," said Chuck. He was trying to gently encourage Devon, but had no idea where this conversation was heading.

"Right, well, I've been thinking a lot about the way things are between me and your sister. And you're the man in Ellie's family...so I was wondering...can I have your permission ...can I marry Ellie?" He took a small red box out of his pocket and opened it to show Chuck a beautiful diamond engagement ring.

Chuck looked at the ring for a moment and said, "Wow. That's quite a rock you have there..."

"Is that a yes?" asked Devon.

"Yes. Yes," Chuck said with enthusiasm. "Sorry, you know, the bling...yes. You have my blessing."

"Thanks, Chuck." Devon was suddenly bubbling with happiness, his nervousness gone. "Yeah, the ring has been in my family for years. It was my great-grandmother's. Do you think she'll like it?"

"Like it? I think she'll love it. I'm just not sure she'll be able to lift her hand anymore."

"Oh, one other thing. Ellie is a bloodhound when it comes to this kind of thing. I can never keep secrets from her. She figures everything out right away. No matter how smart I think I am at hiding stuff from her, I find out later that she's known all along anyway. Sherlock Holmes has nothing on her. So, if I keep this in our apartment, she will smell diamond. Can you hold on to it for me? Just for a day or so. I mean just til I figure out how to pop the question?"

"I don't think that's actually..."

"Oh, thanks, man," said Devon, pulling Chuck into a hug. "Thanks so much, bro. Hey, pretty soon I'm going to mean that literally." With a huge grin, he thrust the ring box into Chuck's hand and said, "Here you go."

Devon walked back to his own apartment with a bounce in his step, leaving a smiling Chuck to head back to his.

"What was that about?" asked Sarah.

Still smiling, but still a little stunned by the event, Chuck said, "Devon asked my permission to marry Ellie."

Sarah squealed and clapped her hands. Casey said, with a smile and a nod, "Good one."

"He also asked me to hold the ring so she can't find it in the apartment." He showed them the little red jewelry box.

"Gimme," said Sarah with excitement. She took the box and opened it to display the ring. "Oh. Nice. That's pretty."

"He said it was from the family. His great grandmother's," said Chuck.

"She's going to love it. When is he going to ask?" asked Sarah.

"Next few days. He wants to figure out how."

With a huge smile, Sarah said, "That's just great. She's going to be so excited. What terrific news."

"Case, can I stash this in your safe until he needs it? We don't have a safe here yet," said Chuck.

"Sure, kid. Give it here. I'll put it in mine now," said Casey. Chuck handed him the ring for safe keeping.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later, Chuck was in the cage at the Buy More fixing computers when he remembered that he hadn't checked Granger's Message Board yet that day to see if there was a posting from Bryce. There was one.

He downloaded to the computer a high resolution picture of a combat knife. He blew it up and began to study it closely. Deep in the background he found what he was looking for. There was a scrap of paper in a wire mesh garbage can with the words "canal loD wa' maHvaD je." [The canal man was one of us too.] However, the message was followed by a photograph of a dark haired woman and the words "bISolnISbe'taHmeH yIyep." [Beware.]

What the hell? Chuck used his phone to photograph the picture of the woman, then deleted the downloaded picture from Bryce from the computer in the cage. Then went into the trash file and deleted it from there as well.

Chuck went to find Casey. He was with Lester and Jeff, who had their backs pushed up to a rack of DVD's and looked terrified. Casey was growling, "And if I ever again find you perverts trying to slip a cell phone camera under the skirt of another customer, I will take said cell phone and jam it so far up your ass that you will have to open your mouths to take a call. Capisce?"

Jeff said, "But if you jam it up his ass, you won't have it available to jam up my ass..." He seemed very confused by the logistics of the threat.

Casey growled louder and was about to answer when he saw Chuck.

"What is it, Bartowski?" he asked.

Jeff and Lester took that opportunity to run away. "Message from Operation Thirty," said Chuck when they were alone. "Including this." He showed Casey the picture of the woman that Bryce had sent along.

"Who's that?"

"No idea. Maybe Sarah or Amy know. It was accompanied by the warning 'beware,'" said Chuck.

"Shit. Let's show it to Walker. Amy's not cleared for Operation Thirty yet. I don't even know that she's aware of Fulcrum," said Casey.

"Ok. He also confirmed that the guy tortured to death in Venice was Fulcrum," said Chuck.

"Hell of a coincidence," said Casey, not really believing it.

Leaving Amy at the Buy More helping a customer, Chuck and Casey crossed the parking lot to the Wienerlicious. When they came in a couple of teenage boys were just leaving. Sarah was behind the counter in her campy outfit, putting another batch of dogs into the fryer.

"Well, you guys don't look too happy," she said, giving Chuck a quick kiss hello.

Casey locked the door and put the 'closed' sign up.

"Heard from Operation Thirty. The dead guy from Venice was Fulcrum," said Chuck.

"So that makes two," said Sarah with a frown.

"But there's more. He included this picture with the warning 'beware'." Chuck showed her the picture of the dark haired woman.

"Oh, shit. Guys, that's Lizzie, the new woman here. The one trying to be friends with me. She must be Fulcrum," said Sarah.

"Oh, crap," said Chuck. "What do we do?"

"We report in," said Casey. "Beckman and Graham may want to pick her up and sweat her. See what she knows."

"Yeah, Casey. That's right," said Sarah. She pushed a few buttons and without too much time wasting, they were on a video conference with Beckman and Graham.

"What is it team?" asked Beckman.

"We've had a message from Operation Thirty. It was two part. First, he confirmed that the man killed in Venice was Fulcrum," said Chuck.

"Ok," said Graham. "That makes two Fulcrum operatives taken and tortured to death. Coincidence that both men were Fulcrum or is that the reason they were taken?"

"Don't know, Sir. That's the million dollar question, I guess" said Sarah. "But there's more. We were also given a picture of a woman with the word 'beware'. I recognized the woman. She recently started work here at my cover job. She's been trying to make friends with me since I arrived back from Switzerland."

Beckman said, "So Fulcrum has taken an interest in your team it seems. I suppose that's not too surprising. After all, you interfered with them with Zarnow and again with Mead. Larkin too, I guess. Any indication that they know that Chuck is the Intersect?"

"No, Ma'am. The message was only the warning. Nothing further," said Chuck.

"Perhaps they want to recruit you? To recruit your team?" asked Beckman.

"Possible," said Graham, "but I think it more likely that they want to know if Larkin told you anything when he came here at Thanksgiving. He would have told them that he tried to recruit you and failed. They probably want to know if you got anything more from him. And I'd be surprised if they know you have the Intersect, Chuck. If they did, their first order of business would be to grab you."

"Yeah, Director. That makes the most sense," said Casey, nodding.

"So, what do you want us to do with her, Sir?" asked Sarah. "Do you want us to bring her in for questioning?"

"Eventually. But for now, we are suitably warned. If she's trying to make friends, let her. Get closer to her. See where that leads us. But, for God's sake, be careful. If the warning was to beware, heed it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Sir, Ma'am, one more thing. Agent Turner is on the team now, but, so far as we know not yet cleared for Fulcrum, Operation Thirty, or the Intersect. May we read her in?" asked Chuck.

"Fulcrum, yes. Operation Thirty, just tell her we have an asset inside, don't name him. As to the Intersect, I leave that up to you. When you think the time is right, you have authorization to tell her. Might be difficult to operate as a team without her having that information. But it is need to know only. When you judge she needs to know, you tell her."

"Understood, Sir. Thank you," said Chuck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Casey and Sarah sat at the stools near the kitchen counter of Chuck and Sarah's apartment. They were talking quietly and sipping wine after dinner. Sarah had responded to Lizzie in a more friendly manner when the woman arrived to take the next shift. The two women had agreed to go out to for a drink after work the next night. Chuck, Amy and Casey would be covering Sarah to make sure she was safe.

Sarah had arranged to meet Amy in the morning and brief her on Fulcrum and Lizzie.

Chuck had looked at Lizzie's job application which Scooter had helpfully filed with the other Wienerlicious paperwork, but it was plain vanilla and didn't tell them anything useful. Tomorrow they would identify her car and find out where she lives.

Chuck and Morgan were in the living room area playing a video game involving a plastic gun and ducks flying across the TV screen. Annoying tinny music played. Morgan was shooting at the ducks and making satisfied noises every time a duck died. After what seemed to be five or six rounds, Morgan lost and handed the gun to Chuck.

Casey and Sarah were sketching out locations and designs for hidden weapons compartments around the new apartment, along with other assorted spy equipment and emergency gear.

Vaguely, they heard Morgan yelping with encouragement at Chuck's progress in the game. In the midst of a description of a hidden wall of weapons along one side of the living room, Sarah looked up at the screen. Chuck's score was multiples of what Morgan's had been and he was knocking down digital birds as fast as they were appearing. He was holding the light plastic gun with an easy two handed grip and seemed entirely focused on the activity on the screen. As they watched, Chuck's score climbed and climbed as he nailed every target.

Casey saw her watching him and turned to look himself. After a while he said, "Kid's good."

"Yeah. I mean it's not a real gun..." she said.

"Bout the same size and weight as a trank gun, though," said Casey.

"Yeah. Maybe he should start to carry every day, not just on missions. Not a real weapon, like us, but ...well, it couldn't hurt. Carrying a trank pistol couldn't hurt. Right?"

"Right."

Chuck's score continued to climb.

"Damn, he's good," said Casey. quietly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N3: Thanks to my friend Kacper Tomczewski who suggested the Duck Hunt scene. It's about time that Sarah and Casey learned that Chuck's a good shot.


	83. Chapter 83

A/N: Ownership of Chuck may not be in exactly the same hands as the ownership of Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank. Or it may be.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"G'morning, Lou," said Sarah. "I'd like you to meet my friend Amy."

"Oh, not necessary, Sarah. Amy and I are old friends. Well, maybe a week and half anyway," said Lou laughing.

"Morgan introduced us," said Amy with a smile.

"Got it," said Sarah with a smile of her own.

Amy and Sarah collected their coffees and sat at a table by the window.

"So, what's up?" asked Amy.

"We got cleared yesterday to brief you on something the team has worked on a little bit. Something that we are getting involved in again." Amy looked at her seriously, sipped her coffee, and waited. "There's an outfit called Fulcrum. It is a domestic organization composed of disgruntled members of the Intelligence Community."

"Aw, shit," said Amy.

"Yeah. Maybe civilians too. Business. Law enforcement. You name it. We don't really know the scope, and we aren't sure what their ultimate goals are...probably far right... but they are very, very dangerous. Our team has run into them a few times so far and they are brutal and deadly, smart and relentless. Since they are among us...and spies like us... they are incredibly dangerous."

"Any idea of the size?" asked Amy.

"No. Getting a handle on the size and membership is one of the major things we are looking for. We are working directly for Graham and Beckman on this. No intermediaries."

"Of course." Amy sat looking out the window for a few moments, deep in thought, then said, "Ok. Can't trust anyone, it seems. CATS all over again." She scowled, but then she saw the look in Sarah's eyes. "Sorry. Sore topic. What is the newest development?"

"We have an asset inside Fulcrum. Operation Thirty. We got a message yesterday. It was two parts. First, a few weeks ago the COS in Budapest was killed. He was tortured to death..."

"Yeah, I heard about that. It was just before I met you guys in Switzerland. So that's what you were working on in Budapest."

"No. We had a different mission in Budapest. It was a coincidence that we were there. But we learned afterward that the dead guy was Fulcrum. Our inside source in Fulcrum confirmed yesterday that another man, a State Department guy in Venice who had also been tortured to death, was also Fulcrum."

"So, what? Are they being hunted? Do we stand back and applaud?" asked Amy.

"We don't know what's going on. Maybe it's a coincidence." Amy made a disbelieving face. "Or maybe not," said Sarah. "But that's not the immediate concern. Yesterday's message included a picture and the word beware. It was a picture of the new woman who started working at the Wienerlicious while we were in Europe."

"The skank?"

"Yeah. Goes by the name Lizzie. Whoever she is, she's Fulcrum. She's been trying to make friends with me, so I've agreed to meet her for a drink tonight. You and the team will be covering me."

"Ok. Got it." Amy smirked a little bit. "Not running a seduction mission on her, I guess, or you'd have sent me in."

Sarah looked down a little embarrassed, "No, Amy it's not like that..."

"Sarah, stop. I'm just busting on you. It's cool. I understand why you don't want to do them anymore. If I'm ever blessed like you to find someone I love and who loves me back, I'll swear off them too. I get it. The only thing that surprised me is that you were so pissed off about it. Casey did you a solid by bringing me along."

"I know. I do. I know. It just didn't seem that way at the time." She sighed. "I was at the top of the game, you know? One of the best at everything. I was one of the best spies we had. We all were in the CATS. Faster, smarter, more skilled. We could do anything..."

"Kind of you to include the rest of us in that, but we all know you were ...and are...much better than I am. Than any of the rest of the CATS were. It's why you were our leader."

"Well, thanks...I could do anything, you know? You wanted a file stolen. I could do it. A target killed. Got it. A man seduced. No problem. I could do it all and better than almost anyone else. I'm not blind and I see that with time, the aptitude for field work changes. I got that. The older agents get different assignments. But I'm still young. I think I can still do everything...I guess I just wasn't ready to admit to myself that I can't. I can't do everything anymore. Things have changed...and it's ok. Casey was right. I'm not that person anymore. I've changed...moved to a different place...it's ok. It's why I was pissed off, though. I wasn't ready to admit that the changes I've experienced over the last few months have inevitably brought concomitant limitations. But I am now. I can admit it. Casey's ...well, he's forced me to see reality. He was right. And I'm not mad anymore."

They sat silently sipping their coffees, until Amy said, softly, "That last seduction mission must have been pretty bad. I'm sorry, Sarah."

Sarah said, with a little smile, "Naw. It wasn't that bad really. I puked on the guy."

Amy had been taking a sip of her coffee and sprayed it out in her laughter. "OH, MY GOD. NO FUCKING WAY." Smiling Sarah began to wipe the coffee off the table as Amy laughed hysterically. "That's fucking awesome. Not in the seduction manual, though. Oh, my God."

Lou yelled, from behind the counter, "You good?"

"We're good," Sarah yelled back, laughing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sarah was in a bit of a grumpy mood. It was after the lunch rush and the day hadn't started well. Lizzie, again, had stacked the cups wrong and Sarah had to restack them correctly when she got in. Maybe she'd mention it tonight. After all, even if it was a cover job for both of them and the woman was the enemy, they'd still have to find some way of operating this freaking store together for a while. And that arrangement of cups was just wrong.

And now, after lunch, where the hell did that woman put the refills for the napkins? Sarah kept a package or two available on the shelf under the counter so she wouldn't have to go to the storage area in back every time the container ran low. The napkins weren't where she'd left them yesterday afternoon. Goddammit.

She got down on her knees to check the back of the shelf. She was definitely going to talk to this woman tonight over drinks. This was ridiculous.

At the back of the shelf she saw a wire that hadn't been there when she'd left for Europe. 'What had Scooter done while she was gone?,' she wondered. She followed the wire along under the bottom of the counter to where it joined the wires from the computer cash register. From there, it disappeared into the mass of wires. She was considering just asking Chuck what it was about when she noticed that it didn't seem to be connected to the computer at all. Scooting over on the floor, she went to the other shelf, the one closer to the window, where the wire continued its journey. That shelf was awkward to access because of the placement of the coffee makers and it tended to be cluttered with stuff that wasn't used often, if ever. Moving some of the stuff aside, she found the end of the wire.

At the end of the wire was a microphone. She stared at it with alarm. Oh, shit. With a feeling of dread and maybe even a little sick to her stomach, she began to trace the wire back in the other direction. Oh, shit. She was knocking things off the shelf to the floor, heedless of the mess she was making. There was a small compartment built up at the back corner of the first shelf. Oh, shit. She ripped it out and found what was at the other end of the wire. A tape recorder. She pulled the recorder away from the wire and turned it off.

Oh, God. A fucking tape recorder. Yesterday's conversation with Beckman and Graham. Oh, God.

She touched her watch and called the rest of the team, Amy included, and told them to meet her in the parking lot immediately. No matter how many other listening devices Lizzie might be able to hide, she couldn't bug the parking lot.

Moments later they were standing between two parked cars. A woman in the Wienerlicious skirt and blouse, a man in the Nerd Herd shirt and tie, and two greenshirts.

Chuck said, "What's wrong?"

Sarah handed him the recorder and said, "I found this at the end of a mike."

He took it curiously, and then recognized it. "Oh, shit. A tape recorder. The wireless alarm I made..."

"Wouldn't work. Aw, fuck, kid," said Casey. "She went old school. Not wireless at all. Old school. Like your grandpa's old school. A mike and recorder. No wireless signals for you to find. You can have all the alarms you want and the only way to find this shit is to fucking look for it."

"Goddamm," said Amy.

Sarah looked too sick to speak.

"You need hours to set it up right and hide it, and regular access to change the tapes and batteries," said Casey. He didn't look any happier than Sarah did.

"Like a job in the location of the device?" said Chuck. It was not really a question.

"Yeah. Can you tell what she's gotten from it?"

"It's voice activated and the tape is only a couple of hours or so in. She must have switched it out when she ended her shift last night. So, she took home yesterday's tape last night. FUCK," said Chuck with vehemence.

"We'll figure this out," said Sarah. She looked like she wanted to throw up.

Chuck said, "Yesterday's conversation with Graham and Beckman. SHIT. Guys, they know I'm the Intersect." His voice had a twinge of panic in it. He was trying to hold it together, but was right on the verge of freaking out.

"The what?" asked Amy.

Casey said, "We'll explain later. The important thing for you to know right now is that it means he has a big fucking target on his back. And the most important job we have is to protect him."

"From Fulcrum?" asked Amy.

"Yes," said Casey. "Let's go to the home theater room and call Beckman and Graham."

As they entered the store, Chuck said, "What if there are more recording devices there?"

"Who cares? Cat might be out of the bag already. I hope like hell Lizzie comes in here to get the tape if there are. She won't make it ten feet into this store before I kill her," said Casey.

"Me first," said Sarah.

In the home theater room they put out a request for an emergency call with Beckman and Graham.

Shortly the screen came to life with both of them. "What is it?" asked Beckman.

Casey spoke. "Ma'am, Sir, it appears that the Fulcrum agent working at Agent Walker's cover job had a recording device operational at the store. She would have heard yesterday's conversation. She would know that Bartowski is the Intersect."

"SHIT," exclaimed Graham. "How? I thought your gadget would send an alarm if there was a bug."

"Yes, Sir. No wireless transmission, though. A mike and a recorder. There was no transmission to detect," said Chuck.

"Damn. Yeah. If someone wants to bug a room like that you'd never find it. You'd have to rip the whole place apart looking for something like that. Shit," said Graham, with a sigh.

"We have to find the Fulcrum agent," said Beckman.

"Yes, Ma'am. We're going to do that right now," said Casey.

"It's too late, though," said Chuck. His voice sounded steady, if sad. "She would have listened to the tape by now. From yesterday. Ma'am, you asked yesterday if they knew that I am the Intersect. She would have told Fulcrum. It's just a phone call. Finding her is closing the barn door. It's just too late."

"We're not giving up, Chuck. We're not giving up. We'll find her," said Sarah, sounding desperate.

"They'll come after my family, Sarah. Ellie and Devon. Even Morgan. They'll come after them. That will be my weakness. That's what they will do. Just by...being...I'm putting them in danger from Fulcrum," said Chuck.

"No, Chuck," said Sarah. "We can protect them. We'll send people..."

He reached out and took both her hands in his. "Sarah, you have no idea if the people you send to protect Ellie are Fulcrum themselves. It won't work."

"No, Chuck...No..." she said.

Chuck turned to the screen and said, "Director, General, there's only one choice. You have to put me in the bunker. The bunker you talked about the first day. It's the only way to protect my family and friends from Fulcrum. Bunker me."

"NO," Sarah practically screamed. "NO, no bunker. No." There were unshed tears in her eyes. "No...I just...I...no. No bunker. You are staying. You're staying right here. Don't even think about it. That's not happening..." She was shaking him by the arms, in an effort to get him to face reason.

Beckman sighed and said, "I understand the hesitancy, Agent Walker, but..."

"Forget it, General. It's not happening. Plan B," Sarah barked. She was almost snarling.

"Sarah," said Chuck. "It's the safest thing to do for Ellie. It won't be forever..."

"No. It will just be until we defeat Fulcrum. It could take years to defeat Fulcrum. I'm not letting you go to the bunker for years. No..."

"Sarah," said Casey. "The kid's right. I hate to say it, but he's right. This is the best way. You, Amy and I can't take the fight to Fulcrum when he's the target of ….well, of everything. We'll spend too much time looking over our shoulders. He'll be safe and what's more, so will Ellie, Devon and Morgan. I don't like it any more than you do...ok, that's not true...but it's the right thing to do. He's right. If we didn't, and something happened to his family, none of us would ever forgive ourselves."

"Agent Walker, he'll be safe in the bunker," said Graham. "And what's just as important, his family will be safest with him in the bunker."

Sarah stood there shaking her head at all the obstinacy surrounding her. Chuck squeezed her hands and "It's ok, Sarah. It's going to be ok. This is the best of a bunch of really sucky choices."

"He's right, Agent Walker," said Graham. He sounded as kindly as he could, given the news he was imparting.

Sarah looked at the faces arrayed around her and knew that she was defeated. They were going to put Chuck in the bunker no matter what she said. Fuck that. Even Chuck...her Chuck...was insisting on it. But it wouldn't happen like that. No. She wasn't losing him. It had taken her her entire life to find him, and she damn well wasn't losing him now. No fucking way. That wasn't an option. "I'm going," she said suddenly.

He looked at her with surprise. Chuck said, "I would never ask you..."

"I know, sweetie, but I'm going with you," said Sarah. She turned to the screen and said, "Director, I request an immediate reassignment to the bunker. I want to be in charge of Chuck's protection. Put me in command of the bunker personnel."

Graham frowned, "Agent Walker, an agent of your caliber would be of the most use out in the field fighting Fulcrum. I mean, I know..."

"Please," said Sarah. The tremor in her voice was so slight that it was likely that no one but Chuck and Graham noticed it. She was holding it together, not crying and not breaking polite protocol in any way, but she was pleading. This wasn't Agent Walker making a request of her boss. This was Sarah begging her foster father.

Graham looked at her hard for a long moment and said, "Fine. Done. I'll make the arrangements. The two of you will be extracted together as soon as we can work that out. By the time you arrive, the new command structure will be in place."

Casey, Amy, and even Beckman, were more than a little surprised by Graham's decision. Chuck had a better grasp of the relationship between Sarah and Graham at this point and wasn't. He squeezed her hands and she gave him a tiny smile, a mix of love and certainty.

"Thank you, Sir," said Sarah.

"Sir, Ma'am, Agent Turner and I will begin the search for the woman," said Casey.

"Wait a second, Casey," said Sarah. "I want you guys to come on the extraction and protect Chuck with me. There's no telling what they'll send for him."

"Yeah, but we stand a better shot at getting to her if we act quickly. Let me get Fitz and his guys to cover. They can work protection while Amy and I find Lizzie," said Casey.

"No," said Graham. "I have them on a job in Mexico. How about Barry Longshore? He's only a few hours away in Santa Barbara. You've working with him before in New Jersey. And Agent Turner was his partner for a year or so."

"Ok, Sir. Agent Longshore is a good choice," said Sarah.

"He's good, Sarah. Tough as nails and very smart," said Amy reassuringly.

Graham said, "Very well. I'll arrange for Longshore to come down to LA and meet you at the Wienerlicious. I'll also arrange for him to take you to the extraction point and accompany you both to the bunker. You and Chuck hold up in the store until he arrives. In the meantime, Agents Casey and Turner, find this woman. It's one chance in a thousand, but hasn't listened to yesterday's tape...or maybe she hasn't transmitted what she knows to Fulcrum yet."

They answered with a chorus of affirmatives.

"Good luck," said Beckman. "Please keep us posted as this plays out."

"We'll be thinking about you all," said Graham. The video conference ended.

"Alright, Sarah, Chuck. Amy and I will get started on tracking down Lizzie."

"Right. Chuck and I will wait for Longshore and the extraction. Listen, if we don't..."

"I'll see you later, Sarah," said Casey. "I'll see you both."

"Right. Good luck, Case, Amy. Be safe," said Chuck, giving Casey's arm a squeeze.

"You too, kid. You too," said Casey.

Chuck and Sarah moved back to the Wienerlicious. Sarah put out the closed sign on the door, but kept an eye out for Lizzie, just in case she decided to come to work that afternoon for some reason. She also changed out of her Wienerlicious outfit. No way in hell she was showing up at the bunker in that get up.

They were holding hands, Sarah with her left hand, as her weapon was in her right. She had turned the lights off in the store as the sun set outside, early this time of year. They sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, Chuck said, "Have you ever seen it? The bunker, I mean. What's it like? Will I...I don't know...get to see the sun sometimes?"

"Oh, Chuck. Oh, my God...you thought...No, Chuck, no. It's not really a bunker. Like underground and shit. No. That's just what we nicknamed it. To emphasize its safety, security. It's actually a huge farmhouse in Oklahoma. In the center of a six hundred acre farm. It looks perfectly normal and innocent, but it's as well armed and protected as a military base. All the farm hands are highly trained, heavily armed guards. If the head of the Russian FSB were to defect, this is where we'd stash the guy," said Sarah.

"Oh. That's better than an underground thing, I guess," he didn't sound particularly cheerful about the farmhouse.

Almost two hours later, Longshore called. A chopper was inbound and he would pick them up to take them to the extraction site in about half an hour.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Casey and Amy were in the Crown Vic and returning from a fruitless trip to Lizzie's address from her job application. The address was a mail drop paid for in advance in cash and useless to them. The next stop was to check the Buy More's security monitors.

Amy said, with amazement and maybe a little horror, "And Larkin sent this...Intersect computer thing to him without warning? He planned for Chuck to download an experimental thing into his brain and become the target of every Fulcrum agent in the country? And Chuck was just walking around minding his own business when this shit happened to him?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Larkin claims he though the thing had been tested and was safe. But otherwise, yeah," said Casey.

"Fucking asshole," said Amy, with fury.

"Yeah," said Casey.

"And when he got it Chuck stepped up? Became an agent? Damn. Honestly, Casey, I thought the guy couldn't possibly impress me more and then...damn. How is he? How's Chuck with the thing in his head?"

"Ok. It only works every once in a while if he sees or hears something that triggers it. They put it together hoping it would be like this super thing that's going to make unbeatable agents, but mostly I think it should just be given to a few analysts to sit in rooms in DC. At least in my opinion. Sure, he's flashed on some useful stuff sometimes, but mostly it's just a pain in the ass."

"Does it hurt him?"

"Day to day, naw. At least not that I can tell. If he flashes too much though, it gives him a headache," said Casey.

"And there's no way to get it out?" she asked.

"Not yet, anyway. They are still working on the whole project in the labs back east."

"And if they could take it out, he could go back to his real life?" asked Amy.

"If he ever gets out of the bunker? Yeah, I guess. I sort of hope he wouldn't, though," said Casey.

They parked and headed back into the Buy More.

"Why?"

"He has more natural talent for this job than anyone I've ever met. He's brilliant, brave as hell, quicker thinking than anyone, great attitude, a fantastic team player. If he were to bail on it...well, that would be a loss to the country. The business at Union Station...disarming the bomb there? That was one hundred percent Bartowski. No Intersect at all. Just him. And that was his first day. He'd only been with us a few hours and he steps up and saves everyone in Union Station. Absolutely outstanding," said Casey with fervor.

"Wow, and I heard him turn Yari Demetrios at the point of a gun. Amazing. I see what you mean," said Amy. "Sounds like you're a big fan."

"Don't you dare tell him," said Casey sternly.

She laughed lightly and said, "Your secret is safe."

In the cage in the back room, they got the tapes playing from the security cameras in front of the store. "There she is." Amy pointed at the monitor in front of them. In the picture, recorded yesterday, they could see Lizzie in her Wienerlicious outfit crossing the parking lot to enter the hot dog store. They backed up the tape until she just came into view. If this didn't work, they would find a way into the security footage for the entire mall, but at the moment, the footage from the Buy More's cameras was more easily accessible to them and a good first step. Well, second step.

"Doesn't show her car," said Casey.

Lester and Jeff, who had been passing through the back area overheard. "And whose car are we looking for now, my friends?" Lester asked with an air of self-importance.

"Well, Casey's helping me, Lester. I'm trying to find out what car Lizzie drives. You know, Lizzie, from the Wienerlicious. I borrowed a bikini from her and wanted to return it, but I lost her contact info on my phone...I'm such a ditz, you know?" She giggled. "Do you happen to know what car she drives? Or where she lives? That would be even better." She put a hand on his forearm.

Lester brushed back his hair and stood taller, "Well, as a matter of fact..."

"It's a tan Camry. Late model. With a burgundy interior," said Jeff.

"Actually, my colleague is correct," said Lester, with a bit of a scowl at Jeff.

"License number?" growled Casey.

"Ah. Her license number is unknown..." said Lester.

"Then you're useless. Take a hike while we try to figure this out," said Casey.

"However, if you are looking for the delectable Wienergirl, we can find her for you," said Lester,

"We can find a girl in the ruins of a blooming onion," said Jeff, with a goofy smile. Casey and Amy looked at each other. What the hell did that even mean?

"You can?" asked Amy with overflowing enthusiasm and a huge smile. "Oh, my God. You are just so great. How can you do that?"

"Well, Amy...it's a secret actually. Known only to those of us from a Canadian background," he said, doing his best attempt at looking mysterious.

"We call our friends," said Jeff.

"Your friends? And your friends help you? Well, that's brilliant. You guys are the best. Would you do that for me? Please?" asked Amy.

"Well, my friend, Amy. We might." Lester tried bedroom eyes. It didn't go well. "Depends. What's in it for us?"

"I have just the thing," said Amy, very chipper. "How about an appetizer sampler from Applebee's?"

"With the boneless wings?" asked Jeff with excitement.

"Of course, with the boneless wings, Jeff. That's the best part," giggled Amy with a huge smile.

"And beer?" asked Jeff, hopefully.

"Absolutely. A brewtus apiece," said Amy, her blonde hair bobbing with her enthusiastic nodding.

"Two. Two apiece," said Lester. Casey growled. "Nevermind," said Lester. "That's not necessary. One apiece is fine."

"Ok," said Amy. "But only if you can find her for me. You don't get it if we don't find her."

"Oh, don't you worry, Amy. We got this," said Lester. He turned to Jeff and said, "Unleash the pervs."

Jeff and Lester donned headsets and sat in front of computers in the cage, Jeff said, "Growler, we need an address for the Wienergirl...no, not the hot blonde, the new one, the brunette, Lizzie..."

Lester was saying, "Hey, Spike, the new Wienergirl, Lizzie...yeah. Any of your shots have the license number for her car?...Yes, I'll wait."

Jeff said, "Sure, ask Marty...hey, Marty, the new Wienergirl, what do you have for me?"

Lester said, "Good, that works...can you run it...Hertz? OK, get me Pancho...Hey Pancho, let me give you a tag number, I need an address..." Lester got the address from the car rental agreement.

Jeff said, "No, no, no. That's gotta be a mail drop. Hold on. Lester, they say she lives nearby. Get Billie..."

"Jesus, this is awful," whispered Amy to Casey. Casey just grunted in return.

"Right, Billie, the new Wienergirl. I need an address..." Lester put his hand over the mike on the headset and asked Amy, "You need any pictures of her in the bikini?" Amy shook her head, somewhat horrified. Lester went back to the man on the other end, "No. No pictures necessary...actually, you know what? I'll take some..." Casey growled. Glancing at Casey with fear, Lester said, "No, never mind. I don't need them. Thanks, though. Just the address. OK, thanks. I sure will," Lester signed off.

Jeff said, "We got it, thanks, guys." He also signed off.

"Right," said Lester. "The beautiful and charming Lizzie the Wienergirl lives just across the road in that development with the brown rooves. She's in number 28, although it is not leased in her name according to ...my sources." He said the last with a very self-satisfied flourish.

Amy giggled and said, "You sure? You are just so awesome. You both are. Thanks a million. Casey and I have to go now, but you remember that I owe you the appetizer sampler and beer. Thanks guys."

"Any time. Say listen, Amy, perhaps we can..." He didn't get to finish as she and Casey turned and left, heading across the Buy More sales floor at a jog.

"I'm never going to get that out of my head, am I?" she asked Casey as they ran from the Buy More to the Crown Vic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up in front of the Wienerlicious. Sarah, gun in hand, looked both ways and carefully around the parking lot and nearby buildings, then motioned Chuck to come out. Chuck got into the back seat and Sarah into the front. Longshore was driving.

"Longshore," she said.

"Walker. Carmichael," the man said. "Ready?"

"Yeah," said Sarah. "Let's do it." Longshore took the car away from the curb and headed towards the extraction point.

Longshore said, "There's an MP-5 under the seat."

"Thanks," said Sarah. She holstered her weapon and took the submachine gun from under the seat, flicking the safety off and jacking a round into the chamber.

"Shit. Sarah, we forgot about Operation Thirty. We have to pull him out," said Chuck, with urgency. "I've been so worried about me..."

"You're right. We'll do it from the chopper when we are airborne," said Sarah.

A few minutes later, Chuck said, "Sarah, I know this is my idea and everything, but what are we going to tell Ellie? Tell my friends?"

She had to focus. She had to keep Chuck safe. She pushed down the urge to cry. 'Cry?' she thought. 'I want to scream and wail and pound the living shit out of something.' Sarah also wanted to comfort Chuck, but the gun was in her hands and her head was on a swivel looking everywhere for danger. Fulcrum could attack at any time and from any direction. While she appreciated Longshore's assistance, she wished she was with Casey.

"We don't want the opposition watching them to see if they contact you. I'll talk to them. Better …. better that they …. think you're gone. Ummm, gone," said Sarah, as gently as she could.

"I understand. That makes sense. You can do it. You can do anything. I know you'll take care of it," he said in a small voice, looking out the window at the passing lights as he began to cry silently.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N2: In real life, the Intelligence Community does not provide long term protection for defectors. Once a defector has been debriefed, the man or woman is turned over to the United States Marshall's Service and their famous Witness Protection Program. The IC simply recognized that the Marshalls are better at that particular task than they themselves are. To date (2/2020) the Marshalls have never lost a single witness who obeyed their rules.

A/N3: A "brewtus" is the proprietary name for the largest size draft beer available on the Applebee's regular menu. Just in case anyone here cares.

A/N4: Jeff and Lester's informal pervnet of stalkers. I know. It's off-the-charts creepy and offensive. I know. It was only used once in canon to find Sarah, in the episode-that-shall-not-be-named. It was creepy then, but in the era of MeToo it seems even worse. I'll think of some way that Amy can try to shut it down permanently, but in the meantime, in this chapter it was a useful, if uncomfortable, tool. Sorry, folks. It bothers me as well.

A/N5: If I may address myself briefly to the guest reviewer who I cannot respond to in any other fashion. Tranquilizer is spelled with a "q". I know that. There is no dictionary spelling for the shortening of that word. Neither "tranq" nor "trank" are in the dictionary and, therefore, neither are right or wrong. I prefer to use "trank." Get off my back. :-)


	84. Chapter 84

A/N: When the value of the Warner Brothers Studio in Burbank, California is combined with the ownership of Chuck, it adds up to real money.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Very short recap. Chuck, Sarah and Barry Longshore are on their way to the extraction point to take Chuck and Sarah to the bunker. Casey and Amy have gotten an address for Lizzie and are heading there to intercept her, hopefully before she's had an opportunity to tell Fulcrum what she's learned.

But...how did we get here? Who sent this Lizzie woman to Team B? How long has she been watching them? What's her mission? And why does she dress like that?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

December 2007

The woman who would later be known as Lizzie stepped into the conference room in the quiet suburban office building to face the scarred man sitting across the conference room table. He scared her. She was very experienced and skilled at inflicting violence and death. She had killed many more people than she could either count or remember. Men. Women. Families. Targets. By-standers. In her line of work, the names, faces and circumstances had become meaningless to her. None of it bothered her in the slightest...well, except when her victims would plead pathetically for their lives. She had nothing but contempt for such weakness. As a contract killer, she was justly feared by those few who knew her reputation. But, nevertheless, this man scared her.

Tommy Delgado was known as a brutal, brutal man. He wouldn't simply kill people, he would butcher them. Although he was skilled with any number of weapons, his favorite was the knife. The truly scary part was his temper. He was quiet and soft-spoken, measured, restrained...until he wasn't. Then he would lose his temper and the knife would come out. She had never seen him do it, but she had once come upon the results soon afterwards. It had looked like the body of the dead man had been savaged by a wild animal. When she inquired as to what the dead man had done to merit such a gruesome death, she was told, simply, that the man had disappointed Delgado.

At the same time, she very much wanted to have the job he was offering. She had heard of Fulcrum for more than a year and knew that they had power, money and the backing of important people. She couldn't care less about whatever stupid political positions they were selling. It had nothing to do with her. What they did offer was regular lucrative employment. For a woman with her skillset, that was rare and to be treasured if found. Repeat business for a contract killer was uncommon, but high-paying steady employment was almost unheard of. She wanted the job. So, as terrifying as Delgado was, it was worth dealing with him.

Delgado neither rose from his seat nor offered to shake her hand. At his gesture, she sat down opposite him.

"Good morning," he said, his voice a deep growl.

"Good morning," she responded.

"You come highly recommended," he said, speaking quietly.

"I'm happy to hear it. It's taken me many years to establish a reputation," she said.

"Are you available for a job?" he asked. Apparently, he wasn't big on pleasantries and got right down to business.

"I am," she said. "Who is the target?"

"It's not a simple hit. Actually, it's more of an intelligence matter."

"Alright," she said.

Delgado slid three photographs across the table to her. A tough looking guy. A goofy looking nerdy guy. And a beautiful blonde woman. "This is an American intelligence team operating out of Los Angeles. We'll give you a packet with what information we have on each of them. Around Thanksgiving the woman was visited by one of our men here in Fulcrum." He slid another photo across. A dark-haired man with Hollywood good looks. "We want to make sure that our man didn't tell her anything that could come back to us. That could help the Intelligence Community in their efforts to stop us."

Tapping the picture of the handsome man with a polished fingernail, she said, "Alright. I gather that you either can't merely ask your man or that you don't trust him to give you an honest answer."

"I don't trust anyone. It's not personal. He says he didn't. He says he was trying to recruit her to our cause, but, of course, I need to verify that."

"Of course. That's only prudent. I can get there and listen to whatever she says...whatever she says with her team. What am I listening for, though?" she asked.

Delgado spent the next twenty minutes telling her about the Intersect, its importance to Fulcrum, and their efforts to acquire it. He explained that Larkin had downloaded the initial version into himself and it seemed to be a bust. He told her with pride that Larkin had blown up the government's version, leaving him as the only one and the government back at square one. As the government was continuing to perfect it, he explained Fulcrum's continued efforts to both acquire or develop one of their own, while, at the same time, to sabotage the one being developed by Washington.

When he finished, she sat and thought for a few moments. "Your man must be very important to you. Being the only one with the Intersect, even if it isn't working as well as they had hoped. It's no wonder you need to verify his trustworthiness. Can I expect that you want to keep this assignment confidential even within your organization?"

"Exactly. I'd prefer my colleagues not share my suspicions of Larkin if those suspicions are groundless," said Delgado. "If he's loyal to us, he will still be very useful."

"That's fine. If I need additional information or something followed up on, for example, do I call you directly then?"

"Yes, here is a number to reach me," he said, sliding a card to her.

She nodded. "We have to discuss my fee, of course," she said.

"Of course." They did so amicably for a few minutes and quickly came to an arrangement acceptable to both of them.

"Very well," she said. "Here is a number for a Cayman's account. Please deposit one third of my fee there, together with $50,000 for expenses. The balance will be payable when the job is concluded."

"Fine, you will have the money by the end of the day," he said.

They rose and shook hands.

She was quite pleased with the assignment. Listen in on some spies for a few weeks or months, find out what Larkin told them about Fulcrum and/or the Intersect, if anything, and be done with it. She would enter their social circle to gain access, plant some bugs, and see what she could find out. Maybe she'd seduce the older guy. He looked like he might be useful in bed. No reason not to get maximum enjoyment out of the job, after all.

On the plane west, she read the files contained in the USB drive she'd been given. First up was Larkin, the pretty boy. Recruited into the CIA from Stanford. Athlete. Languages. A number of successful missions over the years. Seemed to be a good spy. Partnered with Walker at the end, until recruited to Fulcrum. Unlike most Fulcrum agents, who remained in place and worked for Fulcrum from their existing intelligence jobs, Larkin for some reason was pulled out and worked for Fulcrum full time. Notes on the Intersect mission and the poor results of its operation. The more she understood about Larkin, the better she would be able to tell if something the team was discussing was pertinent.

She went to the next one. John Casey. NSA. Straight up military type. A major, so not a bonehead. She read his missions. An old school killer. Ok. Have to be careful of this one.

Charles "Chuck" Bartowski, going by Carmichael, was a bit of an oddball. Seems to be the team's tech guy cum analyst. Overlapped with Larkin at Stanford. Weird. Wonder if they knew each other? Kicked out early. Bummer for you, Chuck. Nerdy. Cover job at the Buy More and lives with his sister. She flipped back to Casey. They live next door to each other. Ok, keeping the team together. This one was a loser with a capital "L." Just looking at him it was obvious. The happy, open expression. Real life would wipe that out soon enough. How the hell did he get into this line of work, anyway? Probably pee in his pants at the first sign of danger. She mentally dismissed him as a threat.

Finally, she opened the file on the woman, Sarah Walker. She stopped for a minute on the picture. Blonde, blue eyes, beautiful in that clean all-American, girl next door way. She found that she hated Sarah Walker immediately. This was exactly the kind of person that the world handed things to. Where a charmed life and all its rewards are God's little added cherry on the sundae of good looks. Making her way through the file her animosity grew with every entry. Harvard. Fucking Harvard. And graduated with honors no less. Fuck you, Sarah Walker. No doubt a stick up your ass the size of a redwood. Thinking she's so much better than everyone else. But the part that truly startled her was the recitation of missions. This was the Ice Queen. Holy shit, the goddamm Ice Queen. She re-read the file from the beginning. She was still not impressed. The so-called Ice Queen didn't have as many kills as she did. Sure, some of hers were pretty technically impressive, one expert to another, but in sheer quantity, she had the Ice Queen beat. This was going to be fun. Listen in on the Ice Queen. There wouldn't be any question who was the better operator when this was over. And it wouldn't be the fabled Sarah Walker. 'I'll bet that's not even her real hair color,' she thought.

She spent the first ten days in Los Angeles on set up. Cars. Safe houses. Weapons. ID. Disguises. Surveillance equipment. All the basic logistical things that would have been taken care of for her if she wasn't working as an independent contractor.

When she decided she was ready, she took a room at Walker's residence hotel, being very careful not to be seen by Walker or either of the others until she was ready to make her move. They were top notch professional spies and would have excellent situational awareness. She was very careful to stay at long distance from them. It would be too easy for them to recognize her from two different locations and add that coincidence up to an alarm. That's when the whole operation started to go pear shaped.

Walker and her team left LA on a mission. She called Delgado for instructions. Should she follow them? No, she was told, too much chance of them spotting her if she tried to follow them around on missions. Ok, she stayed put in LA. When she saw the news about the downfall of billionaire-assclown Lon Kirk by a Federal team in Vegas, she knew what their mission had been.

She was primed for them to get back. She'd come up with a plausible scenario to run into Walker in the hotel and make friends with the woman. Of course, as it turned out shortly after they got back from Vegas Walker packed up her shit and moved out of the hotel. Fuck. What goddamm sucky luck. The bitch.

And, what's more, Walker moved into an apartment near her teammate Casey. The whole team in one location. But the part that surprised her the most was that she took an apartment with the nerdy tech guy, Bartowski. What the hell was that about? Giving the nerd added motivation to be on the team by bedding him regularly? Walker was behaving very oddly for a supposed professional.

She went to the manager at Echo Park to get an apartment in the same complex, but there weren't any available. She considered killing someone to create a vacancy, but on balance decided it would draw too much attention. And, anyway, it would be months before an estate would clean out an apartment, so the timing wouldn't work.

Her next course of action would be to bug the team's apartments. She wore the uniform of a parcel delivery service employee with her cap pulled down and entered the courtyard. She was very careful and had developed a sixth sense for surveillance. They were very well hidden, but when she knew what to look for she could spot them. Hidden cameras and recording gear. The courtyard was thoroughly covered. No doubt the doors and windows would be alarmed as well. Ok, so a black bag job to get to the team's apartments was out. She'd have to be invited inside. That would take time to arrange, but ok.

She checked out of the hotel and took an apartment across the street from the team's cover jobs. It was on a slight hill about a mile away from the mall where they worked during the day, but the apartment's living room window had a perfect view of both the Wienerlicious and the front entrance to the Buy More. As she studied the view with binoculars she realized that with a good enough telescope (if the light was right) she'd be able to see inside the hot dog store and watch Walker during the day.

She bought a telescope and set it up in a hide site inside her living room. The hide was built out of black curtains and enclosed the telescope and a chair, almost a small room-within-a-room. Anyone looking in her window would just see black. She'd be hidden behind the curtains and invisible to the outside world. She kept a sniper rifle there as well, in case she had to take out Walker or any other member of the team she was watching. This job was becoming frustrating. She'd been in Burbank for almost a month and had yet to accomplish anything important or useful.

Soon after the New Year, Walker and her team left town again. That was a perfect time drop bugs into the stores where they worked without being seen by the team. She went into the Wienerlicious and ordered a corn dog and a drink. Sitting at the table with her food, she took a small bug out of her pocket and switched it on, prepared to install it inside one of the napkin dispensers. The moment it was activated the computer on the counter gave a tone. The bespectacled man behind the counter looked at it curiously. There was a message flashing. He began to push some buttons, but it was clear he didn't know what he was doing. She turned the bug off. The message on the computer stopped flashing. The man shrugged and turned away. She turned the bug on again and the same thing repeated itself. Shit, shit, shit. There was an alarm set up to detect transmitters. Who even invented that shit? Godammit.

From the Wienerlicious she crossed to the Buy More. Pretending to shop near the Nerd Herd desk where Bartowski worked she turned on the bug. Tone and flashing message on the computer. Same as the hot dog place. Shit. Whatever alarm that had been installed in the Wienerlicious had also been installed in the Buy More. She randomly tried different locations throughout the store and the result was the same. Frustrated, she returned to her apartment to consider alternatives.

No wireless devices would work. She sat staring out the window at the stores. Whatever genius had created that alarm had blocked any of the bugs she had acquired for use on this job. She would be reduced to sitting and listening to them talk and taking fucking notes like a fucking stenographer, she supposed. Take notes. Take notes. There was a note taking app on her phone. She could speak into it and record what she wanted to say. Record. That was the answer. A tape recorder.

Ok. A tape recorder. But she'd have to change out the batteries and tapes with some regularity, so she needed consistent access. Ok. Easy enough. She could do this.

She showed up the next morning and charmed her way into a job at Scooter's hot dog store. She set up the recording device, tested it and waited.

Walker and her team arrived back in LA with an addition to the team, some blonde bimbo who got a job with Casey at the Buy More. What was with these blondes anyway? Did the CIA have a warehouse full of them, just waiting to be trotted out? Delgado sent her the file on Agent Turner. Boring.

She was glad she was making a lot of money for this assignment, because she detested her time in the Wienerlicious. The outfit was stupid, even if she was able to spice it up a little to be a bit more flattering. A little shorter to show off her legs. A little tighter to show off her curves. An open button. Much better than the family-friendly original. The customers were idiot schoolboys. The worst part was that she came back to the apartment every night smelling of grease. But she got the recorder working and could listen to the conversations, although after the fact.

She tried recorders at the Buy More, but that didn't work. The store was too big and busy. Whatever snippets of conversation she'd managed to pick up had been meaningless. Even the one centered at the Nerd Herd desk where Bartowski spent a great deal of time didn't produce anything useful. She shouldn't be surprised, as it was too public for spy conversations. Of course, she did listen to two idiots at the store talking about "the new hottie dog girl" and detailing exactly what they wanted to do with her given half a chance. The description was both imaginative and quite explicit. She made a mental note to come back to Burbank after this job was over and kill them both.

She established a routine. She would sit with coffee while watching Walker at her hot dog job through the telescope. The part she loved the most was watching Walker re-stack the cups in the morning, scowling and cursing to herself. She would literally laugh out loud as that ritual was enacted. At the same time, she would listen to the tape from the prior day's conversation at double speed, only slowing it down when she heard Walker's voice saying something interesting or when she was talking to a member of her team.

Her team. As ridiculous as it might seem, she concluded that Walker was in love with Bartowski. Really in love with the loser. She watched them together through the glass and saw the look on her face after she had kissed him goodbye when he was heading back to the Buy More. She watched Walker's expression and mannerisms and, the next day, heard the Ice Queen humming to herself when she thought she was alone. Ice Queen. What total bullshit. This stupid lovesick cow was worse than a silly schoolgirl. Whatever steel the woman had once had, if any, was gone...melted to marshmallow. Just another typical example of the rep exceeding the reality. Likely, she was one of those public relations geniuses who could spin events to their credit whenever a mission ended. Probably taking credit for someone else's kills. 'Ice Queen my ass,' she thought. She knew she was so much tougher than the so-called Ice Queen.

All the while, she was working on getting close to the woman socially. Have a drink after work, that sort of thing. But the woman was an unfriendly bitch. Although Walker was very hard to warm up to, she kept trying. It was her job. Finally, after weeks, something cracked and Walker agreed. They would be meeting that evening. A necessary first step to making friends with her. Once that was done and she had access to the apartment she could install bugs there too. Unless, of course, that fucking alarm thing was set up at her home as well.

On the tape she was listening to, Walker said, "Well, you guys don't look too happy." Lizzie slowed the tape to normal speed and kept watching Walker through the eyepiece of the telescope. This was the conversation they had had yesterday when Casey and Bartowski came to the Wienerlicious in the middle of the day.

"Heard from Operation Thirty. The dead guy from Venice was Fulcrum," said Bartowski on the tape. Lizzie hit pause and replayed it. This was the first mention she'd had about Fulcrum. Operation Thirty? She made a note on a pad she kept next to her.

"So that makes two," said Walker on the tape. Two what? She didn't know.

"But there's more. He included this picture with the warning 'beware,'" said Bartowski on the tape.

"Oh, shit. Guys, that's Lizzie, the new woman here. The one trying to be friends with me. She must be Fulcrum," said Walker on the tape. FUCK. She stopped the tape. FUCK. She was blown. Someone in Fulcrum blew her cover. So much for Delgado's assurance that he was keeping her involvement to himself. FUCK. No wonder Walker agreed to have a drink with her tonight.

"Oh, crap. What do we do?" said Bartowski on the tape.

"We report in. Beckman and Graham may want to pick her up and sweat her. See what she knows," said Casey on the tape. Fuck you, jarhead. Good luck taking me.

"Yeah, Casey. That's right," said Sarah on the tape.

"What is it team?" asked Beckman on the tape a little while later. Apparently, they had initiated a call of some kind with their bosses. She knew that Beckman was head of the NSA and Graham head of the CIA. As Beckman was a woman, it was easy to tell them apart from their voices.

"We've had a message from Operation Thirty. It was two part. First, he confirmed that the man killed in Venice was Fulcrum," said Bartowski on the tape.

"Ok. That makes two Fulcrum operatives taken and tortured to death. Coincidence that both men were Fulcrum or is that the reason they were taken?" said Graham on the tape. Tortured to death? What the fuck? There were Fulcrum guys being tortured to death? And who the hell was Operation Thirty giving confirmation to Walker's team that they were Fulcrum people?

"Don't know, Sir. That's the million dollar question, I guess, but there's more. We were also given a picture of a woman with the word 'beware'. I recognized the woman. She recently started work here at my cover job. She's been trying to make friends with me since I arrived back from Switzerland," said Walker on the tape. 'Not anymore, you bitch,' she thought.

"So, Fulcrum has taken an interest in your team it seems. I suppose that's not too surprising. After all, you interfered with them with Zarnow and again with Mead. Larkin too, I guess. Any indication that they know that Chuck is the Intersect?" said Beckman on the tape. WHAT? She stopped the tape and replayed it. Then again and again. She must have listened to it a half dozen times before she could convince herself that she heard it correctly. She wrote 'Bartowski Intersect?' on her pad.

Bartowski is the Intersect. And so is Larkin? Beckman had said "the" not "an", singular not plural, so maybe Bartowski's the only one? Maybe he's the only one that works? Did Larkin not blow up the Intersect when he stole it? What the fuck was going on?

She continued listening. "No, Ma'am. The message was only the warning. Nothing further," said Bartowski on the tape.

"Perhaps they want to recruit you? To recruit your team?" asked Beckman on the tape.

"Possible, but I think it more likely that they want to know if Larkin told you anything when he came here at Thanksgiving. He would have told them that he tried to recruit you and failed. They probably want to know if you got anything more from him. And I'd be surprised if they know you have the Intersect, Chuck. If they did, their first order of business would be to grab you," said Graham on the tape. Grab him? Sure as shit Fulcrum is going to grab him. Delgado will flip when he gets this information. Shit, talk about the motherlode of secrets. Oh, my God. I'm going to be a freaking hero to Fulcrum.

"Yeah, Director. That makes the most sense," said Casey on the tape.

"So, what do you want us to do with her, Sir? Do you want us to bring her in for questioning?" asked Walker on the tape. Fuck you, Walker. Like to see you try.

"Eventually. But for now, we are suitably warned. If she's trying to make friends, let her. Get closer to her. See where that leads us. But, for God's sake, be careful. If the warning was to beware, heed it," said Graham on the tape.

"Yes, Sir," said Walker on the tape

"Sir, Ma'am, one more thing. Agent Turner is on the team now, but, so far as we know not yet cleared for Fulcrum, Operation Thirty, or the Intersect. May we read her in?" asked Bartowski on the tape. Yes, she thought. Read her in. Tell her. Bring her in right now and tell her everything.

"Fulcrum, yes. Operation Thirty, just tell her we have an asset inside, don't name him. As to the Intersect, I leave that up to you. When you think the time is right, you have authorization to tell her. Might be difficult to operate as a team without her having that information. But it is need to know only. When you judge she needs to know, you tell her," said Graham on the tape. Ok, so the inside person is a man. Turner doesn't know about the Intersect, about Bartowski being the Intersect.

"Understood, Sir. Thank you," said Bartowski on the tape.

What followed was meaningless pleasantries as Casey and Bartowski went back to the Buy More. She replayed the tape over from the beginning. Then she picked up her phone and pulled up Delgado's number. She was about to hit send when she stuck her eye to the telescope to find Walker. The blonde woman wasn't in the store. Where did she go? After a few moments she saw Walker stand up from behind the counter looking upset. She said something and ran from the store, only pausing long enough to put up the closed sign and lock the door behind her.

She watched as Walker ran through the parking lot to meet the rest of her team. What the hell was going on? She shifted the telescope to look at the four of them. Walker handed Bartowski something...FUCK. It was her tape recorder. Well, who cares? She was blown anyway. Walker's team talked in the parking lot for a few moments and then ran into the Buy More. So, they knew they had been bugged even with that fancy alarm they had set up. So what? I'm smarter than all of you Harvard/Stanford types after all, huh, assholes?

She glanced down at her phone and was about to lower her thumb to put the call in to Delgado, but something stopped her. Think, think, she told herself. Why don't you want to call Delgado? So, you're blown, so what? Whoever the mole was had blown you yesterday. No. It's not the fact that she was blown...it was … this tape. They knew she was listening to this tape...to that conversation. They knew that Fulcrum now knew that Bartowski was the Intersect. His status wasn't secret from Fulcrum anymore. He was a target. Graham said so himself. What do you do when one of your guys is a target? You hide him, of course. That's why she had stopped herself from pushing the button and contacting Delgado.

She's blown. Not her fault, but blown anyway. As a result, the Intersect will be moved to some secure location where Fulcrum might have difficulty finding or accessing him ever again. Delgado would blame her. Unfairly, but he would. He'd kill her for that. A bad outcome if ever there was one. On the other hand, if she could bring Bartowski alive to Delgado she could write her own ticket with Fulcrum. That was the prize. A living breathing Intersect to present to Delgado. She could avoid the blame for him being hidden away by taking him to Fulcrum herself. Now that would work nicely.

She watched Walker and Bartowski cross the parking lot back to the Wienerlicious. Walker kept the closed sign up as she relocked the door. It looked like they were settling down to wait for something or someone. They were going to move him to a safe location immediately. Her clock was ticking.

Ok. That had become the mission. Grab Bartowski before they can move him to hidden safety. How to get Bartowski? She was operating solo, so she would be outgunned. She could take Walker out with the sniper rifle at her knee, but then what? Bartowski would flee by the time she could get there and she might not find him, so that was a bad idea. Frontal assault on the store would be suicide or might end up with a dead Intersect (which Delgado would reward by killing her). She needed surprise and an ambush. How to set an ambush? Get ahead of them, of course. How to do that? Find out where the pick-up was going to be to take Bartowski to safety. Fulcrum is inside the IC. Maybe Delgado can make some calls and get her the information on the extraction, without knowing who the person to be extracted was? She didn't have to tell him why she needed the information, just that it might be important. If it worked out, she could tell him later. Can't hurt to ask him, she thought as she pressed the send button on her phone.

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A/N2: I can't be the only one who was wondering why Lizzie didn't tell Fulcrum right away about Chuck being the Intersect. Or how she showed up on the roof at the time of the extraction. If you agree, leave a note in the box below. Or even if you don't agree. Come back next Saturday to see what happens on the roof.


	85. Chapter 85

A/N: Do you think they keep ownership of Chuck in the same cabinet in Warner Brothers Studios that they keep the ownership of Bugs Bunny? That would be cool. I know Chuck would like that.

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Recap. Chuck, Sarah and Barry Longshore are at the extraction point on the roof to take Chuck and Sarah to the bunker. Casey and Amy have gone to Lizzie's apartment to intercept her, hopefully before she's had an opportunity to tell Fulcrum what she's learned.

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Chuck, Sarah and Barry Longshore climbed the flight of steps to the helipad on the roof of the downtown office building. The wind whipped at their hair, well, Chuck and Sarah's hair anyway. Longshore didn't have much in the way of hair. The lights of the city surrounded them on all sides, as if they were floating on a sea of sparkling incandescence.

Longshore said, "Let me reach out and see where we are with the chopper." He had to shout a bit to be heard over the sound of the wind. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. That's when he jerked forward suddenly and a spray of pink blew out from his head.

Longshore's body was still collapsing to the ground as Sarah spun to face the threat, drawing her weapon as she went. Lizzie, who had been hidden by a large machine on the roof, stepped out behind Sarah and hit her in the head with the side of her gun. Sarah collapsed onto the roof deck and didn't move.

"Well, hello, Mr. Intersect," said Lizzie, pointing her gun at him. "Give me that fancy watch. Without touching the buttons on the side."

Chuck did as she told him to. He threw it to her. She dropped it to the roof deck and stamped on it with her heel, grinding it down. "I just have to tell you how happy I am to be with you right now. When I tell Delgado and Fulcrum that you are the Intersect and that I have you, they are going to pay me a ton of money."

"You didn't tell them yet, Lizzie?" Chuck asked.

"It's going to be a big surprise, Bartowski. They'll find out that Larkin is not the only one...or maybe he isn't one at all. Who knows? They can figure it out, I guess. The important thing is that you'll get to show them what you can do. And I'll get rich, of course."

"We'll pay you more, Lizzie. If it's just about money, we can pay you more," said Chuck.

"No, thanks. I want to live to spend it," she said. She reached down and threw Longshore's gun to the far end of the roof and then did the same with Sarah's gun. "Say goodbye to your girlfriend, Mr. Intersect. It's time for her to go now." Lizzie lowered the gun to Sarah's head as she lay on the roof unconscious.

Time seemed to stop for Chuck. Lizzie was going to kill Sarah. Sarah would be dead. Everything ...everything would be dead, over, finished, dark. Dread? That didn't come close to what he felt. The infinite horror of that fact grabbed at him and generated a terror such as he'd never known. A terror he felt to his very bones. A world without Sarah had no warmth or joy or color. A life without Sarah was no life at all. He forced himself to think clearly. A heartbeat later, he knew exactly what he had to do.

Chuck screamed, "NO, LIZZIE, NO. IF YOU SHOOT HER, YOU'RE DEAD!"

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Number 28 was in the middle of a row of apartments in one of the two story white buildings making up the complex. The stairs were outdoor and off the parking area. Casey and Amy, wearing vests over their green shirts and with guns drawn but pointed at the sky, made their way up the stairs cautiously. Stopping at the door to Lizzie's unit, they stepped to either side of it. They listened and didn't hear any sounds from inside the unit.

Casey looked to Amy. She nodded once, to show she was ready, brushing a stray strand of hair aside. He stepped back and, his body still to the side of the door, and kicked it once about three inches above the doorknob. The door burst open. They shuffled inside with their guns pointed ahead of them. Casey moved straight ahead, Amy turned immediately to the right, covering that part of the room. Casey pulled back the black curtain, to find the empty chair and telescope. He would focus on that later. At the moment, he had to find Lizzie if she was in the apartment. Room by room, door by door, closet by closet, they checked for her. Announcing "clear" to each other as they went.

When they had assured themselves that they were alone, only then did they begin to look around. The first stop was the hide she had constructed. Casey looked through the eyepiece of the telescope, careful not to jostle it from its point of focus. "Fuck. She's been watching Walker," he said.

Amy looked at the tape player next to the chair and the small plastic box next to it. In the box were small envelopes, each labeled with a date. She shook one out and found a tape. "Here are the tapes from the store." She looked in the player and ejected the tape. Yesterday's date was written on the label in pencil. "Yesterday's," she said, dropping it into the plastic box.

Casey picked up the rifle and viewed it with professional appreciation. It was a good weapon and could easily have made the shot to take out Walker or any one of them from that distance. He put it down and picked up the pad, dropping the pencil to the floor. Written on the pad was 'OPERATION 30?'. Underneath that was written 'BARTOWSKI INTERSECT?'. Underneath that was written 'STEFFEN BUILDING – ASAP.'

"FUCK," Casey shouted. He touched his watch, saying, almost shouting, "Sarah, Chuck, Lizzie knows about the extraction. She knows the site of the extraction. She knows where you are. Sarah? Chuck? FUCK."

He dropped the pad on the ground and lunged for the door, "Let's go. The extraction is blown. Lizzie knows where they are."

Amy scooped up the box of tapes and followed Casey out of the apartment at a run. Casey took the stairs three or four at a time and Amy did her best to keep up with him. By the time her butt was in the passenger seat of the Crown Vic, the engine had been started and the car was moving. Casey flipped a hidden switch and a siren began to wail and red and white lights began to flash. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected that he had reached fifty miles per hour before they had left the parking lot of the apartment complex. Casey barked, "Try their cell phones."

She did and got no responses. She left messages. Casey said, "Try Longshore." Amy held tight to her phone as she was thrown to the side of the car when it took a turn at high speed with all four wheels screaming in protest, the big car shaking violently. No result with Longshore either. He said, "Keep trying."

Casey was reciting a steady stream of curses of extraordinary imagination at the other cars on the road. In addition to the siren, he had the car horn blaring almost non-stop.

Amy had never been in a car driven the way Casey was driving. The fact that they didn't get into an accident or kill anyone was a miracle. She only screamed once, when he drove at 60 miles per hour for two city blocks...on the sidewalk. He was driving like a creature that had recently arrived and had not yet learned the laws of physics on this particular planet.

The Steffen Building was a downtown skyscraper recessed in a wide plaza area up a handful of shallow steps. Casey hit the steps at a ridiculous speed, sparks flying from the underside of the car as it bottomed out, and drove flat out across the plaza, skidding to a stop in front of the building entrance. The car was still shaking from the violence of the stop when he and Amy bailed out and ran to the front entrance.

He shouted something authoritative to the night security guard as they ran to the elevators. Casey stabbed at the up button. Then again. He looked up at the indicator lights and said, "Let's take the stairs."

Amy said, "Casey, it's thirty stories. We're better off waiting for the elevator. Really."

He grunted in the affirmative, hitting the button again.

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Chuck began to back away from her. Lizzie laughed at him. "I'm dead, huh? You going to kill me, Mr. Intersect? Good luck with that. I have a gun. What do you have?"

He continued to back up. "No, I'm not going to kill you." He was shouting over the noise of the wind, his hands raised in a calming gesture. "Not me, Lizzie. Not me. Tommy Delgado will kill you."

At the use of Delgado's first name, she paused. Seems that this team really did know about Fulcrum after all. "Hah. I don't think so, Bartowski. He's going to give me a reward. A big fucking reward. I'm bringing him the Intersect. He's going to be very, very happy with me...whether or not your girlfriend lives..."

Chuck had reached the edge of the roof, which was a single step behind him. The drop was over thirty stories. He focused everything he had not to succumb to the terror. Sarah's life depended on this. "But if you pull the trigger, Lizzie, if you kill Sarah, you won't be bringing him the Intersect. You see, if you kill her, I'm going to jump. I'm going to kill myself. It's simple, really. I love Sarah and I cannot live without her. Literally. I won't live if she's gone. I won't. You may be able to bring him the body of the guy who used to have the Intersect, I guess. If you scrape me off the street down there. Think Delgado will be understanding if that's the case? He'll forgive you? He'll give you a promotion? Think he'll pay you?"

From her semi-crouched position over Sarah's unconscious body, Lizzie looked at him with shock and a little panic. She shifted the gun away from Sarah to point it at Chuck. "Bullshit. Get away from the edge."

Chuck shook his head. "Oh, come on Lizzie, you're going to shoot me to stop me from jumping? That's a brilliant fucking plan. Well done. Did you go into this line of work when you became bored with brain surgery? Idiot."

She began to walk towards him, Sarah forgotten, saying, "Bartowski, get back from there. Get back."

"No. Fuck you. Put the gun down," he said.

She shifted her aim to his leg, "I can just wound you, you know." Behind her, he saw Sarah start to stir.

"Wow. You really are stupid, aren't you? Guess you better hope I don't fall backwards when you shoot me, huh? And think, Lizzie. I know thinking isn't really your strongest skillset, but give it a try. You shoot me in the leg and what? Even if I don't fall backwards off the roof? What? What's the next part of your plan? You carry me? You're probably in decent shape, but I have to outweigh you by maybe a hundred pounds. You really going to do that?"

She started to lower the gun. She said, "What do you have in mind, Bartowski?"

"Wow. This must suck for you. Your whole life if you point a gun at somebody they do what you want them to. You have the leverage. I'm guessing this is the first time that it isn't working for you. The first time you are dealing with someone who just... doesn't... fucking... care. I have all the leverage here, Lizzie. All of it. If Sarah dies, you get nothing. Nothing at all. And then Delgado kills you. I've read his file and he doesn't strike me as the forgiving type. And you won't be able to spring your big surprise on him. Won't be able to tell him that I'm the Intersect. No go." Sarah was up and moving silently across the roof. Any noise she made was whipped away by the sound of the wind. She had looked around briefly for her weapon, but hadn't found it.

"Get on with it," Lizzie barked.

"Here's the deal, Lizzie. She lives. Sarah lives. I'll go with you. Not exactly willingly, but I won't fight you. But she lives. Period. Non-negotiable. Now put the gun down," said Chuck.

"Bartowski, I can't let her live. You have to know that," she said. He lifted a foot and began to shift his weight backwards. She screamed, "Stop. Stop. Ok. Ok. I'll put the gun down."

She squatted slowly to the roof, one hand lowering her weapon, the other raised placatingly towards Chuck, motioning for calm. As she began to stand up, leaving the gun on the roof, Sarah kicked her in the side of the head with a roundhouse kick. She tumbled to the side, rolled and came to her feet in a fighting stance. "You fucking bitch," she screamed.

She rushed at Sarah and threw a low kick at Sarah's forward knee combined with a left jab. Sarah picked up her foot from the ground, allowing the leg to move freely with the strike. The kick hurt, but didn't damage the knee as there was no weight on it at the time of contact. She blocked the punch. Sarah dropped the foot down and moved in with a left right left combination of strikes, two of which landed and staggered Lizzie back. Sarah followed up with another roundhouse kick, which Lizzie blocked.

Chuck noticed that Sarah's balance seemed a little off. She had been unconscious moments before and that was entirely understandable. Sarah must have sensed the same, as she moved in closer to Lizzie and concentrated on strikes rather than kicks. As Lizzie tried to move backwards to achieve kicking distance, Sarah followed her closely to prevent that.

Grappling with Sarah, Lizzie moved in for a throw, but Sarah shifted the balance point and threw Lizzie to the roof instead. As Lizzie rolled, trying to break the impact of the fall, she found one of the guns she'd taken from Sarah or Longshore earlier. She started to raise it, but Sarah tackled her and knocked it aside.

When Chuck saw the gun in Lizzie's hand, his eyes went wide with fear and he lunged forward onto his hands and knees on the roof deck.

Astride Lizzie, Sarah punched her twice with her right hand while her left was holding Lizzie's pistol aside. Lizzie worked her left hand free and hit Sarah again on the side of the head with the gun. Sarah rolled off the other woman, riding the blow to lessen its impact. Lizzie quickly stood up with the gun in her hand, while Sarah, moving a hair more slowly than usual, was just starting to rise from the roof deck.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, not even feeling the rough gravel under his palms, Chuck desperately snatched Lizzie's gun from the roof before him. The metal was cold in his hand and the weight of the gun was unexpected. Just as Lizzie brought her gun around to point at Sarah, Chuck's gun came up to eye level. Chuck instantly sighted down the barrel, using the luminescent sights he centered his aim at the oval blob of Lizzie's head. With a bare moment's hesitation, he shifted his aim to her far shoulder and fired. The gun in his hand bucked hard, the noise and recoil startling him. He dropped the gun to the roof.

Lizzie flew backwards, her own gun falling from suddenly powerless fingers. She landed on the roof on her back. After a moment she began to curse and look around frantically for the gun she'd been holding.

Sarah stood up from the deck and picked up the gun Lizzie was looking for. She looked at Chuck for a moment in surprise, but then turned back to Lizzie. Sarah stood over the other woman and pointed the gun at her. Her right arm useless, Lizzie raised her left arm towards Sarah and held the palm out. With her feet she was pushing herself away from Sarah on the roof, although God only knew where she thought she was going. She left a wide red trail of blood behind her, like the slime behind a slug.

"Please," she begged. "I won't tell anyone. I promise. His secret is safe. Please. I won't tell anyone." She was screaming desperately. "Please. It's safe. His secret is safe. I won't tell anyone. I swear. Please. Mercy. Please. Mercy."

Sarah said, "You know Chuck is the Intersect. You're a threat to my family. You're a threat to my Chuck." Sarah's face was as hard as white marble and her eyes held all the warmth of blue ice. There was no mercy at all to be found in those eyes.

Lizzie stared at Sarah with terror and her last thought was 'The Ice Queen.'

Sarah fired twice and Lizzie stopped.

From the stairwell Casey yelled, "Sarah..."

Now that it was over, now that she had neutralized the threat to Chuck, Sarah found herself afraid to turn around. She was afraid of what she would see in his eyes. Revulsion? Horror? Pity? He'd seen her kill enemies before, but never like this. Never in cold blood. He'd never seen the Ice Queen. Had she ruined everything? Could he still love her after what he had just witnessed? She felt his gentle hand on her arm, then his other hand on her other arm. As she stood there, looking at Lizzie's body without really seeing it, the heavy gun in her hand still smoking, she felt his arms encircle her from behind and his chest press into her back. She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear as he whispered, "Let's go home."

She nodded once. Not looking at Lizzie's body any longer, she moved over to pick up her own gun from the roof deck, as the one in her hand was Longshore's. Holstering her weapon as she walked, she and Chuck made their way across the roof to Casey and Amy.

Amy was on her knees next to Longshore. Chuck and Sarah went to her first. "Sorry, Amy," said Chuck. Sarah put a gentle hand on Amy's shoulder. Amy looked up and nodded, wet streaks of tears running down her cheeks.

"Thanks," she said. "Sometimes he was a pain in the ass, but overall he was a pretty good partner."

"I know," said Sarah. "I'm sorry."

Chuck turned to Casey. "She didn't tell them. Lizzie didn't tell them. She wanted to bring me in with the news and make a big production of it. Big surprise. "

"And you contained the spread of the information, Sarah. Good job," said Casey to Sarah. He spoke more gently than usual.

"Hmmm," said Sarah. She handed Casey the gun in her hand, "Longshore's weapon."

"Right. Rough night for you two. Go home. Amy and I will take care of things here," he said.

"Thanks, Case. Yeah, this sucked. Just happy it worked out ok," said Sarah.

"Here, take the Crown Vic. It's out front. I'll meet you guys later. Amy and I will get the cleaners and call off the chopper."

"Right, thanks," said Chuck, taking the keys from his friend. "Remember to tell Beckman and Graham too."

"Yeah," said Casey.

Chuck and Sarah took the elevator to the building's lobby in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

Chuck stopped for a second out the door to the Building when he saw where Casey had left the Crown Vic and noticed the long lines of rubber on the pavement behind the car, evidence of a high speed stop. He knew his friend had driven to them as if their lives had depended on it. 'Thanks, Case,' he thought to himself.

Chuck took the wheel and they began to drive back to Echo Park.

They were very quiet. Into the silence, Sarah said, "That was a brilliant bluff, Chuck."

"Hmmm," was all he said in response. Was it a bluff? Would he have killed himself if she was really dead? It was a bluff, wasn't it? Wasn't it? All he knew for sure was that the idea of losing Sarah was the single worst thing he could even contemplate.

That train of thought didn't sit well with him at all. Without warning, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, opened the driver's door and leaned out to vomit. All the terror and violence and horror of the evening had taken its toll and he was ill for several minutes. The heaving went on for a while even after his stomach was empty. Sarah rubbed his back and made soothing noises. When he had finished, she handed him a bottle of water she'd found in the car to wash out his mouth.

As they began to drive once more, Sarah felt she had to explain her actions. Explain why she had killed Lizzie. "I had to do that, Chuck. I had to kill her. We couldn't be certain that the information about you wouldn't leak out otherwise. No matter how deep the hole we dropped her in, there was a risk that someone in contact with her would be Fulcrum and she would get the word out. I couldn't take that risk, Chuck. I couldn't. You have to be safe. It's the only important thing to me. You have to be safe."

"I know, Sarah. Of course, you did. I know. From the moment we found out she hadn't told Fulcrum about me, I knew what had to happen. I knew." He looked at her and said, "It's ok, Sarah. It's ok. I knew all along. There was no other choice."

Sarah was relieved that he understood, but she knew it had been hard on him too. Chuck had shot the woman. He had really shot someone in real life, not a video game. Sarah thought about his performance with the video game the other night, his skill and accuracy. 'Oh, God,' as a thought occurred to her.

She looked at him with surprise. "You deliberately shot her in the shoulder." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"Knowing that I'd kill her a minute later."

"Yeah."

Silence. Then she said, still looking at him, "We make a good team." He gave a quiet snort, not really a laugh. Sarah reached for his hand. It was cold, as was hers. But they held each other's hands and waited for the warmth to return.

A few minutes later Chuck's phone made the noise designating an incoming text message. He took the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Sarah while he drove. She opened the phone and said, "It's from Devon. He wants the ring. He's going to propose tonight." As bad as the day had been so far, this news made her smile. She texted back that they were on their way home and would get him the ring within the next half hour or so. "I guess he's not going to do a super elaborate proposal...with skywriting and a marching band."

"Guess not," said Chuck with a small smile.

When they arrived at Echo Park they went into Casey's apartment using a key each of them had. Chuck dropped the car keys to the Crown Vic in a bowl by the front door. While Sarah stopped by the door to deactivate the unit's alarm, Chuck made his way over to the safe, built into the wall and hidden behind some books on the bookshelf. He entered the combination to open it and held his hand over the biometric scanner as well. The door opened and revealed its contents. Chuck took the ring box, opening it to make sure the ring was still inside, and closed the safe back up.

Chuck texted Devon to meet them by the fountain while Sarah reset Casey's alarm. Moments later Devon came out of the apartment. Chuck handed him the box with the ring.

"Thanks, bro. That's awesome," said Devon, looking and sounding nervous.

"Good luck," said Chuck with a broad smile, shaking Devon's hand.

"Thanks, Chuck," said Devon. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Gotta calm down. Gotta get my heartrate down." He reached up to his throat with two fingers.

Sarah leaned in and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You'll do great, Devon. I know she's going to be thrilled. And the ring is beautiful."

"Thanks," said Devon. Taking another deep breath, he said, "Well, here it goes." He squared his shoulders and went back into the apartment. Chuck and Sarah spared a glance through the window of Ellie and Devon's apartment and saw a table fully set for dinner complete with candles and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. They smiled at each other and, with their arms around each other's waists, went into their apartment.

Chuck was almost dizzy from the events of the day, his discovery that Fulcrum might know he was the Intersect, his decision to go to a bunker to protect his family, his threat to jump to his death if Lizzie killed Sarah, his shooting Lizzie himself and then watching Sarah finish the woman, and now the ebullient joy at Ellie's engagement.

When Chuck returned to the living room after brushing his teeth, Sarah had taken a bottle of Ketel One vodka from the freezer and put it on the table with two short glasses. Chuck sat down next to her and poured the liquid into the glasses for each of them, so icy cold it was almost viscous. They raised the glasses to each other and Chuck said, quietly, "To Barry."

"To Barry," said Sarah. They touched glasses and together downed the fiery smooth liquor.

Sometime later, Chuck was doing the dishes after dinner while Sarah cleaned up the kitchen. They had been quiet and somber since returning home, drinking the vodka rather than wine with dinner. The events on the roof earlier in the evening had affected them both deeply.

The knock at the door wasn't wholly unexpected. Sarah opened it to find Devon and Ellie, with wide smiles and a chilled bottle of Schramsberg Blanc du Blancs champagne.

"Hi, guys," said Sarah with a wide smile of her own.

"Look," said Ellie, holding up her hand to show off the ring. "I'm getting married."

"Oh, my God," said Sarah. "Congratulations. It's lovely." Laughing, Sarah pulled Ellie into a hug.

Behind the women, Devon bellowed, "She said yes!"

Chuck smiled happily as he looked at his sister and Devon, how overflowing with joy and love they were. How excited they were at the prospect of their marriage. The shadow of his horror at the idea of living without Sarah entered and left his mind in an instant, but it echoed the deep impact it had made earlier in the evening. He stared at Sarah, who was laughing with Ellie, holding her hand admiring the ring. She sensed him looking and turned her smile to him. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and it flooded him with wonder that this amazing woman who he loved more than anything or anyone in the whole world loved him back. He blew her a kiss. She blew one back. And with that kiss, he made a decision.

He wondered who he should talk to to get a recommendation for a good jeweler.

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A/N2: Lizzie's plan on the roof, in canon, sucked. Blasting away with a gun in each fist? To what end? My Lizzie, here, was only marginally smarter. She never considered the possibility of simply not telling Delgado that Chuck was the Intersect. Chuck's whole plan depended on Delgado knowing and being mad at her. If she never told him, he wouldn't have anything to be mad at her about. Luckily for Chuck (and Sarah), she didn't think of that.

A/N3: As to Sarah and Chuck's actions on the roof in this chapter, I think they made sense. Was Lizzie less dangerous to our friends than Mauser in Chuck versus Santa Claus? Because Mauser bragged about his importance and Lizzie didn't? I don't buy that as an explanation. The reasons for taking each of them off the game board were really identical. But, unlike Mauser's death in canon, there are no lies accompanying Sarah's actions here.

A/N4: Please join me again next Saturday, as the ramifications of Team B's responses in this arc continue. Things will never be the same in this AU.

A/N5: And please be safe, everybody. This virus thing has to be taken seriously. Listen to the scientists.


	86. Chapter 86

A/N: On the other hand, maybe they keep ownership of Chuck with the ownership of the Arrowverse at Warner Brothers Studio. That would be cool too.

A/N2: This chapter will change the status quo in the New Day AU, so fasten your seatbelts.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

General Beckman and Director Graham sat in his office with the lights low, drinking whiskey. Beckman had been driven down to Langley from Fort Meade soon after the decision had been made to bunker Chuck, so that she and Graham could coordinate the transfer while face to face.

They had spoken to Casey a little while ago and learned that the threat had been eliminated and the bunker was no longer necessary. They mourned the loss of Barry Longshore, a good agent. While they recognized that the men and women working for them would occasionally make the ultimate sacrifice, they were still human enough that every single time it happened, it hurt. At the same time, they were also both relieved that Chuck would not have to be immediately bunkered. However, they knew it was only a temporary reprieve. The fact remained that Fulcrum was desperate for the Intersect and the only existing Intersect was in Chuck's head. The danger of him falling into their hands was extreme and might have terrible consequences if it were to happen.

Graham said, "It wouldn't have worked. He wouldn't have been safe in the bunker. If any one of the personnel there is Fulcrum..."

"I know," said Beckman, sadly. "It was our go-to solution, but in these circumstances..."

"I can only think of one way to keep him away from them, and even that has its risks," said Graham.

"I know. I thought of the same thing myself," said Beckman. They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Beckman said, "Casey?"

"We can't order him. It would be a totally unenforceable order," said Graham. "But he might agree..."

"And Chuck's sister?" asked Beckman.

"We would have told her he was dead …" said Beckman.

They sat in silence drinking their whiskey.

"I hate it," said Beckman.

"Me too," said Graham. "But it's the only way."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several days later, Echo Park, Burbank

Ellie, Devon and Morgan sat on the couch in Chuck and Sarah's apartment. Chuck, Sarah and Casey sat in chairs around them, arranged so that all of them could see the TV screen.

Chuck started. "Thanks for coming over, guys."

"What's up, Chuck? You guys look totally serious," said Morgan.

"It's pretty serious, Morg. We are going to tell you guys some stuff and you have to agree ...really swear... and really mean it...swear that you keep what you are going to hear secret. Ok? For real. Even from Lou."

Devon and Morgan looked confused, maybe a little nervous. Ellie looked calm and said, "I agree."

Devon looked at her with surprise, "Babe..."

She looked at him and said, her voice flat, "Agree."

He was surprised, but turned to Chuck and said, "Ok, Chuckster. I agree."

Chuck looked at Morgan, who said, "Yeah, sure. No problem. I agree too."

"Ok," said Chuck. He gestured at the TV. "I'm using this TV as a screen for a video conference. So, when I activate it, there will be two more people joining this conversation."

"Sure, Chuck," said Morgan.

Chuck pushed a button on his laptop and the screen activated. They were looking at Graham and Beckman.

Chuck said, "Mr. Morgan Grimes, Dr. Devon Woodcomb, and Dr. Eleanor Bartowski, I'd like to introduce you to …"

Ellie, with a small smile, interrupted to say, "CIA Director Langston Graham and General Beckman...umm, DIA?" Ellie was referring to the Defense Intelligence Agency.

"No, NSA," said Beckman.

"Ah, ok," said Ellie. Devon and Morgan looked on with shock.

"You recognized me?" asked Beckman.

"No, but you are wearing a name plate and have a single star on your shoulder. I didn't exactly have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out," said Ellie.

"But I'm not, Dr. Bartowski," said Graham.

"No, Sir, but you were on Meet the Press a week ago Sunday," she replied.

"Ah. You don't seem surprised, Dr. Bartowski," Graham said.

"I'm guessing Sarah is yours, Director, and John is yours, General," said Ellie.

"Yes. How did you know that?" asked the General.

"Just a guess. But John is military through and through. Makes sense that you would be his boss," she said.

Devon said, "I'm confused, everybody. What the hell is happening here?"

"Yeah," said Morgan. "Am I dreaming?"

Ellie said, "You're not dreaming, Morgan. They are going to tell you that Sarah and John are spies and that, somehow, so is my brother."

"Huh?" said Devon. "Spies?"

"No way," said Morgan.

"You knew?" asked Chuck.

"Yes, little brother. I knew," said Ellie with a tiny smile.

"How did you know?" asked Chuck.

"Well, why don't we start with the fact that you've never been able to keep a secret from me. Ever. You are also a terrible liar, at least where I'm concerned. Sarah and John show up suddenly out of the blue. John's a greenshirt when he's obviously overqualified. Sarah is selling hot dogs and driving a Porsche. She's one of the smartest people I know, and she's selling hot dogs? Come on. That's pretty nuts, guys. Want me to take it from there? You are all wearing the same watch and all have ...whatever you call them, ear-things..." She was waving her fingers around the side of her head.

"Earwigs," said Casey, his voice both gruff and impressed at the same time.

"Right. Thanks, John. Earwigs. Did all three of you suddenly go deaf at the same time? Right? How about the courtyard? There's more surveillance out there than a Russian hotel room. You are suddenly dressing better and have the money to have your own apartment. You are out and about at all crazy hours. Every time you have to leave town, John disappears too. Coincidence? The excuses you give me about what you are up to are totally lame. Too much changed in your life, Chuck, and those changes coincided with Sarah and John coming to Burbank. Chuck, the only two choices are that you went into organized crime or you became a spy. And I knew you would never become a bad guy, so...when you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however unlikely, is the truth."

"So, it's a cover? Selling hot dogs...working in the Buy More...it's just a cover?" asked Devon.

"Yes, honey," said Ellie. "Those are their cover jobs."

"So, it's not real? Are Chuck and Sarah not a real couple?" Clearly, it was taking Devon a bit of time to catch up.

Ellie took a breath to answer that, but before she could, Morgan said, "Oh, no. That part is real. They're a real couple."

Chuck glanced at Sarah and they gave each other little smiles. "We are, but why do you say that, Morg?" asked Chuck, as he reached for Sarah's hand.

"Because of the way she looks at you, buddy. Every time. I just wish...I wish...I wish Lou would look at me that way just once ...the way Sarah looks at you every single time," said Morgan. "...It's totally real." Ellie reached out and squeezed Morgan's hand. He gave her a grateful smile.

"Yeah," said Chuck. "That part is real. We fell in love soon after Sarah arrived in Burbank."

"If I may ask, Dr. Bartowski, how long have you known?" asked Graham.

"Well, Director, I suppose I'd be lying if I said right from the start. Pretty early on, though. Sarah and John came here soon after Chuck's birthday party. I knew things were different and didn't quite fit, so I started to look a little harder without being too obvious about it. Certainly, by the time I was hit with that dangerous truth serum and the agents were looking for the computer chip that poor Whitney man had dropped into my sweater. I came so close to telling you that I knew when I was under the effects. Once I knew, it became easy to figure out what they were up to. The visit to Las Vegas coincided with the arrest of Lon Kirk. Chuck learning to ski in Switzerland just as the French arrest the Russian arms dealer...speaking of which, it's you we have to thank for his diploma, isn't it?"

"No, I just..." Graham said.

"Yes, it is," said Chuck. "How did you know?"

"Because you wouldn't let me call the school and get an explanation for the new evidence. I knew it had to be related to the rest of the spy stuff you couldn't talk about," said Ellie.

Graham cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, Dr. Bartowski, all I did was show the new evidence to the school and drop some choice criticisms of their investigation of Chuck's supposed cheating. Beyond that, I merely encouraged them to do the right thing. I didn't use any of the CIA's influence to get Chuck his degree. That was earned by him and rewarded by the school honestly and honorably, if a little late."

With that statement, Ellie looked very hard at Graham for a few moments. "Thank you, Director. I appreciate what you did for him. If I may ask, what was the new evidence?" asked Ellie.

"A video of Larkin and Fleming conspiring to frame Chuck in order to keep him out of the CIA."

"Keep him out of the CIA?" asked Ellie.

"Yes," responded Graham.

"And yet here we are," she said after a serious moment's consideration.

"Yes," said Graham.

"What has changed recently?" asked Ellie.

Sarah was stunned by what she was watching. This wasn't her best friend, Ellie. Her almost only friend. Who was so kind and warm, generous and loving. This was a woman who she had never met before, but yet had known existed. She was the girl who had taken over the family as a pre-teen child when her mother left. She was the girl who balanced the family checkbook while doing her math homework. And later, the girl who bamboozled the State authorities to stay with her brother, to stay out of a foster home, when her father deserted them. The woman who earned a scholarship to UCLA while being, essentially, a single mother to her younger brother. Who excelled at pre-med while working multiple part time jobs to support her and her little brother and helping him earn a scholarship to Stanford. Who went on after college to graduate school, again on scholarship, to earn not only an MD degree but also a PhD in neuroscience … at the same fucking time. That was the woman who now faced Beckman and Graham on equal terms. 'Holy shit,' she thought. She glanced at Casey and saw in his returned look a level of awe.

Beckman said, "What do you mean?"

"What has changed with their situation that you all," she gestured to encompass all five of the spies, "called this meeting to tell us? This can't be normal for you and certainly not with the participation of the bosses."

"You are quite right, Dr. Bartowski," said Graham. "Things have changed. We are facing a somewhat unique challenge. The nature of that challenge I cannot share, but the bottom line is that your brother may be targeted by ...certain opposition forces. It is of utmost importance that we protect your brother. For that reason, we have made an arrangement with Agents Walker and Casey. In the event of a threat to your brother, something we can't neutralize, all three of them are going to disappear. Chuck has arranged that, at the push of a button, he can erase all electronic records of the three of them from our databases. They would go on the run, as it were. No contact with the General or myself, no contact with anyone at our agencies and, I'm sorry, no contact with friends and family."

"And you are telling us this so that we'll know they are ok if they are to vanish. So, we know it's part of the plan?"

"Yes, exactly. When we presented this alternative to the team, Chuck insisted that you three be read in to the situation," said Graham.

Chuck said, "I couldn't ...I couldn't not tell you, Ellie. Mom...dad..." Chuck looked like he might cry at the thought. "...you had to know...I couldn't just leave without saying anything."

"Thank you, Chuck," she said softly.

"Of course, I didn't know that you knew what had been going on for the last few months," he said.

Ellie thought about it for a few moments and said to Sarah and Casey "Can you do it? Can you effectively disappear and be safe?"

"Yes, we can, Ellie. I promise," said Sarah.

"Good, thank you," said Ellie. Turning to Casey she said, "Obviously, you don't know how long the disappearance would have to last. John, you'd give up your career, your pension, to protect my brother and Sarah?"

Casey looked uncomfortable under the gaze of her serious brown eyes and said, "Well...ummm...they're my partners."

Ellie looked at him hard for a few moments without expression and nodded once, then turned back to the screen. "How deeply infiltrated by the opposition is the Intelligence Community?" Ellie stood up and began to pace around the room.

Beckman said, "What? What are you...What do you mean?"

Ellie said, "Come on, General, don't treat me like an idiot. If Chuck was in danger, you would put him in a safe house surrounded by your guards, or whatever you guys call it. You aren't doing that, which means you are not confident that your own people are trustworthy. Hence, the unorthodox plan to have your spies disappear."

With a sigh, Graham said, "Yes, Dr. Bartowski. You are quite right. The opposition, which goes by the name of Fulcrum, has infiltrated the Intelligence Community and maybe beyond. We don't have a handle on the extent at this point, but they are extremely dangerous. We fear the infiltration is extensive. Frankly, it is of the utmost concern."

"I expect it is. Why Chuck? Why are they more interested in him than, say John or Sarah?" she asked.

"Chuck is a technical wizard. His skills are extensive and not easily duplicated. We believe that it is those skills that Fulcrum is seeking," said Graham.

Ellie looked at her brother hard for a few moments and said, "No. That's bullshit. That's not enough."

Graham said, "Dr. Bartowski, please believe me. His skills are extraordinary. You are familiar with the attempted bombing at Union Station in September? It was stopped by an unnamed agent who deactivated the bomb. That was Chuck. He'd been with us only a few hours...hours... and in that time he saved over a thousand lives."

Chuck looked embarrassed. Casey and Sarah looked proud. Ellie looked at him with love and pride.

Graham continued. "Hell, Dr. Bartowski, just a few weeks ago he gave a lecture here in Washington to teach a roomful of PhD's how to do something they thought was impossible. Trust me, his skill level with technical matters is off the charts."

Ellie turned and looked at Graham seriously, their eyes meeting. She held his gaze for a few moments and then said, "Oh, I do trust that you are telling the truth about his skills. I know just how special he is. I know better than anyone. But it's not enough. If it were merely his technical skills you'd have him in a lab someplace doing technical things, but you don't. If he were a real agent, he'd have gotten training to be out doing spy shit, but he didn't. You certainly wouldn't leave him in the Buy More. And Sarah selling hot dogs? Come on. So, there's something else. Something you aren't telling me about why Fulcrum is after Chuck. What is it?" Her voice was strong and confident, if polite.

Sarah revised her opinion. She had thought that Ellie was taking on Graham and Beckman on equal terms. That impression was wrong. Ellie was dominating the conversation. Chuck was watching his sister with love and awe. Sarah was a little interested to see that Graham and Beckman were pretty rapidly becoming intimidated by Ellie.

Beckman said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Bartowski, you do not have the security clearance necessary for a fuller..."

"Bullshit, General," barked Ellie, politeness aside for the moment. "Stop that nonsense. The very fact that we are having this conversation at all indicates that you and the Director have thoroughly vetted all three of us and know for absolute certain that we are not security threats. If there was any doubt about that you'd have let Chuck, Sarah and John disappear without us ever having spoken. So, just stop," said Ellie, her voice terse and angry.

Graham said, "Fine, Dr. Bartowski..."

Beckman interrupted, "Director, I don't think..."

His eyes never leaving Ellie's, he said, almost harshly, "No, General. No. My decision, my responsibility... Dr. Bartowski, there is a new technology that the Intelligence Community has been working on. We call it the Intersect. It transfers information to a person's brain through encoded images..."

Ellie said, "Of course, that was being researched a few years back. There was a paper by ….um, I think it was Busgang and Zarnow...but it didn't pan out. The research dried..." Ellie looked at Beckman and Graham. Her eyes widened as she realized the truth. "...no, no, it didn't dry up, did it?...you guys took it...You classified it. It works? Holy shit. It works. Where are we on it? Has it moved to human trials? What's the retention rate? How much..."

Graham interrupted her, "There's a single individual that has gotten the entire download, only one..."

Ellie's eyes widened in understanding. She spun to her brother, furious, "CHUCK? You volunteered for an experimental neural augment without talking to your sister the neurologist? CHUCK?"

Everyone was talking over each other. "I didn't volunteer..." said Chuck, his hands held out in a defensive gesture.

"YOU DIDN'T VOLUNTEER?" she spun to look at Graham and Beckman with fury in her eyes.

Chuck was on his feet, "It wasn't them, Ellie. It wasn't them. They didn't do this to me..."

"Then who the hell did? Who decided it was a good idea to put an experimental system into someone without their consent? Who would do that?" she demanded.

Chuck was silent for a few moments and then said quietly, "Bryce..."

"BRYCE FUCKING LARKIN? THE SAME BRYCE FUCKING LARKIN THAT GOT YOU THROWN OUT OF SCHOOL? HE DID THIS TO YOU?" She saw the look on Chuck's face and said, more quietly, but with uncharacteristic venom in her voice, "I'm glad he's dead." Again, she looked at Chuck's face carefully, shifting her gaze to Casey and Sarah by his side and then twisted to look at Graham and Beckman. "Ok," she said, "He's not dead...but, I promise you he will wish he were."

Sarah had never heard a threat issued with more certainty. Wherever he was at the moment, Bryce had probably just felt an icy finger run down his spine.

"So, let me recap...," said Ellie, "Larkin downloaded this neural augment into you and the General and the Director," she gestured to the TV screen. "...sent John and Sarah here to work with you as part of a three-person team. Since then, you've been doing things like disarming the bomb at Union Station and busting Lon Kirk in Vegas. Along the way, you and Sarah fell in love. Fulcrum has infiltrated the Intelligence Community to an unknown extent and is looking for you in particular. To protect you, if it becomes necessary, John and Sarah are prepared to disappear with you for an unknown duration so that Fulcrum won't find you. That about sum it up?"

"Well, yeah, pretty much," said Chuck.

Morgan and Devon just sat there stunned. Morgan pinched himself, but didn't wake up.

"Ok, right" said Ellie. Turning back to the screen she said, "I want the results of every single test done on my brother. Every CAT scan, MRI, whatever. All of it. And I want the reports by all the neurologists who have examined him. When that's done I want to know everything there is to know about the system that went into him and that he's carrying around in his brain."

Graham said, somewhat embarrassed, "Well, Dr. Bartowski, he actually hasn't been seen by a doctor since the download..."

Ellie blew up. "WHAT?! YOU HAVE A GUY WHO DOWNLOADED A COMPUTER SYSTEM INTO HIS HEAD AND YOU DIDN'T GET HIM A CAT SCAN? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? YOU DIDN'T FUCKING THINK OF IT? WHAT THE FUCK?" She turned to Chuck, Sarah and Casey. "And it didn't occur to any of you either? Chuck, you were living with a fucking neurologist. What the hell is the matter with you people? Chuck, for God's sake..."

Ellie was pacing the room like a tigress by this point. She stopped and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Looking at Chuck, Sarah and Casey, Ellie said, "I love all three of you. I do, but I am so very pissed off at you right now. Ok...ok...here's what we are going to do. Pack a bag, little brother you're going to the hospital. No, no...wait...this is all secret...I need someplace that can be controlled. Ok...federal...the VA hospital in Brentwood. General, get on to them stat and wake up the radiology department for an incoming patient. Devon, you'll have to cover for me at Westside. Tell them whatever you want except the truth...just let me know so I can keep the story straight. Sarah, John, you can come with Chuck, or not. It's up to you."

Graham and Beckman were watching Ellie with awe and a little amazement.

Ellie turned to Beckman and said, "General, stat is term doctors use...it means NOW."

Beckman flinched and reached immediately to the phone on her desk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N3: Thanks to all of you following along on this story. There's a ton more story to come. I've just gotten us through the end of Season 1, and we all know that's not where the story ends. Here's the thing, though. I'm having a lot of trouble focusing right now (I live in a place which is a virus hotspot as of 3/21/2020). Finishing this chapter was much more of a challenge for me than usual and I haven't been able start the next one at all. I honestly don't know when I will. Sorry, guys. I'm going to take a bit of a hiatus from my regular Saturday postings. I am not ending this story, though. I'm not. Good luck to everyone. Stay home and stay safe and I'll see you on the other side (or maybe sooner).


	87. Chapter 87

A/N: Thanks for waiting, my friends. I'm back. I'm virus-free, as is my family [*knock wood*], but I must begin to practice social distancing from the refrigerator and the liquor cabinet immediately or sooner. I want to thank all my friends here (too numerous to call out by name) who have looked in on me or engaged with me over the last two months. I really appreciate your support. I know I'm repeating myself, but I cannot imagine that there are any other FF communities as wonderful as this one is. I'm delighted to have found you guys. Thanks.

AN2: This is the start of the thirteenth arc of our story, roughly based off Chuck Versus the Role Models (Season 3, Episode 15). I know it's out of order, but I have my reasons. I'm calling it the Von Vogel arc. I am very sorry to say that Fred Willard, the actor who played Craig Turner, passed away on 5/15/2020. Sleep well, Mr. Willard.

A/N3: I also know that my regular references to the fact that I do not own Chuck are (rightfully) ignored. But, for those of you who may have been paying attention and noticed that the last few mentioned Warner Bros. Studios, well...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Wait, wait, wait," said Chuck. "Do you mean to say that if you just put the parameters in here.." he gestured to the control panel in front of the pretty woman giving the tour, "... the costume will come out there?" He gestured to the futuristic cabinet on one side of the room.

"Eventually. But first you'll see what it looks like on a little hologram right here." She touched a button and an eight inch tall hologram of a man appeared above a smooth pad on the control board.

"Oh, my God. That's so cool," burst Chuck with excitement.

"And of course, we have to have the costume element that you are looking for. We can't have everything, but we have thousands and thousands of pieces. Mr. Ives was very proud of this system. It is the state-of-the-art wardrobe system. There's nothing like it at a studio anywhere else in the world."

"Can we try it?" he asked.

"Sure," she said. She looked him up and down, pushed some buttons on the control board and the holographic man grew taller and lankier. "Actors who work with the studio have all their measurements fed into the system. Everything from hat sizes to shoe sizes. For you, I'll just make a guess, though. What do you want to try?"

"How about a leather jacket?" suggested Chuck, with a happy expression and a shrug.

"Ok," she said, typing into the computer in front of her. "What style? Cowboy, biker, bomber, modern fashionable, what? What do you have in mind?"

"Umm, let's try cowboy," he said.

She pushed a button on her control screen. "Ok. Brown or black?"

"Brown," said Chuck.

"Ok, we have three that should fit." The little holographic man was suddenly wearing a brown leather cowboy jacket. She pushed buttons and the jacket changed to one with fringes. She tried again and the jacket became one with rhinestones.

Chuck said, "The first one. Can I see the first one, please?"

"Sure." She pushed a button and there was a pulsing noise of machinery working. Within moments, the cabinet on the side of the room opened its door to reveal the brown leather cowboy jacket they had seen on the holographic representation, but it was now hanging in the cabinet on a wooden hanger.

Chuck walked over and took it out with a huge grin. "Can I try it on?"

With a pretty smile of her own the woman said, "Go right ahead," as she waved her hand in invitation.

Chuck pulled on the jacket. It fit surprisingly well, although maybe a little short in the sleeves. Grinning, he said, "How do I look?"

Sarah said, "You look cute, sweetie."

Amy said, "We have to get you a horse."

Casey said, "You look like a tool, Moron."

His grin never even flickered as Chuck responded to Casey, "You are always so mean to me."

Sarah said to the tour guide, "Ignore them. They actually love each other." The woman laughed.

They were being given the VIP tour of the Castle Studios facility. Graham and Beckman had sent them without much in the way of explanation. The enormous facility, over sixty acres in size, was probably the most prominent feature of Burbank with its iconic water tower, complete with decorative crenellations, visible for miles. Of course, like many locals, Chuck had lived there for years and never taken the tour.

They had started at the office building which housed the offices of the huge conglomerate, with businesses in film, television, publishing and games. They saw the studios themselves where movies and television shows were filmed. They saw the massive warehouse of props, seemingly arranged at random. They saw the back lots, looking like the streets of New York, Europe, or small-town USA. They saw the vast collections of equipment used to produce the finished products and the army of skilled professionals that swarmed all around working in one of the city's lynchpin businesses. Chuck and Amy were tickled by a couple of celebrity sightings. But it was the high-tech wardrobe department that thrilled Chuck more than the rest of the fascinating items on the tour.

He began to shrug off the jacket. "Do you know anything about the algorithms they use to sort the database? How many gigs does it contain? I figure with a holographic picture of each item, it must be pretty huge."

"I'm sorry,…" she began.

"We'll get you that info later, Chuck," interrupted the man who had just joined them from a side door. He was a very big, strong-looking redhead in jeans, cowboy boots, an open necked shirt and a sports jacket.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"Yeah. I'll take them from here, Randy. We have some business back at the offices to take care of. Thanks for showing my friends around."

"My pleasure. They were a joy. Bye, guys. Hope you had a good tour."

They said their goodbyes and thanks to Randy.

"So, what's up, Fitz? You a movie executive this week?" asked Sarah.

"I've had worse cover jobs," he said with a grin. "There's no part of this one that involves a broom, so that's a plus."

"I hear ya," growled Casey. "So, you going to tell us why we got the studio tour? Some terrorists lurking around the corner, maybe?"

"Walk with me, guys. It's not too far back to the main building." They began to walk through the studio facility. "What do you guys know about Mike Ives?"

"I know his latest wife left him for a Vegas hooker he hired for a three-way," said Sarah.

"I didn't know you read People magazine," said Amy, with a gentle shove and a smile.

"No. It was a story Lon Kirk told me before we busted his ass," said Sarah.

"Right," said Fitz. "That bit is true, but not where I was heading. Ives owned Castle Studios..."

"Past tense?" asked Casey.

"Yeah," said Fitz. "It was just in the press. Few months ago he sold it to a collection of investors from back east. Investment banking guys or something. Except they weren't. See, it turns out that Ives had a habit when it came to taxes. He didn't like to pay them. The IRS was all over his ass and he was facing serious prison time. Too many financial short-cuts. So, the government made him a deal. All charges against him would be deep sixed if he sold to the investors and kept his mouth shut. It was, as they say in the movies, an offer he couldn't refuse."

"Why did the government back the investors?" asked Chuck.

"Because they are merely a front for the real owner. The Intelligence Community bought the Studio. Castle Studios is one huge intelligence operation now."

Chuck stopped in his tracks, stunned. "You're shitting me. This is all an intelligence operation? So...all these people are agents?" He looked around at all the busy people scurrying past with the work of a movie studio.

"Oh, hell no. Only a few dozen of us are agents. The rest are legit movie or TV production people. They have no idea that the new owners are spooks like us."

Chuck had begun to walk again. "But how can this be? The IC owns a real American business...I mean..."

"Read some history, kid," growled Casey. "For decades during the Vietnam War the Agency owned and operated an actual airline called Air America. Planes, passengers, cargo, the whole thing. All CIA."

"Hell, Chuck," said Sarah, "when Tony Mendez smuggled the Americans out of revolutionary Iran he set up a movie production company as cover. The Canadian Caper is taught at the Farm as a textbook extraction. Tony Mendez is a legend."

"Yeah," said Fitz. "It's no big deal to have the Community own businesses. We do it all the time. This one, though, is a bit of a bigger deal. It's a major corporation and it's going to take some effort to run it. We're still looking for a CEO."

They had entered the lobby of the office building and crossed to the elevators, having been waived through security by an armed guard who recognized Fitz. At the far end of the elevator bank was one car with a keypad next to it. Fitz entered numbers into the keypad. The elevator door opened and they stepped inside.

"If it's such a big deal, why do it?" asked Sarah.

"This is why," said Fitz. There was a handprint scanner along the wall of the elevator cab. He put his hand on it and there was a flash of light as his palm was read. The door closed and the elevator began to descend. "It's not the Studio itself they wanted. It's what's underneath. An old OSS substation used to coordinate special operations against the Japanese during the war in the Pacific. We call it..."

"Castle," said Casey. "I heard about this place, but for some reason I never connected it with the Studio." Shaking his head, he mumbled, "Idiot." Speaking normally again, he continued, "It was mothballed decades ago."

"And Graham and Beckman bought the Studio and just spent the last two months having it fully renovated and outfitted with all the latest shit." The elevator door opened and Fitz said, "Welcome to your new headquarters."

They stepped out of the elevator into a wide room filled with computers and wall mounted screens. Lights blinked softly on the machines, telling anyone interested that they were active and ready. All four members of Team Bartowski were gaping with surprise. Chuck said, almost breathlessly, "This is for us?"

Fitz said, "Yeah. It is." He clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Here's the main room." The large room had computer stations to the side and a large conference table in the center. "Chuck, they knew you'd want to set up the computer and other systems yourself, so these are just a basic vanilla set up, ready for you to customize. But you are hooked up by armored connections to all the IC databases. Not to mention satellite hook-ups. If we know it, you guys can find it from here. There's a comprehensive communications grid here. They installed Chuck's gadget throughout the whole facility, so we don't have to sweep for bugs as often. Oh, and there's an electronics workshop over there for you to invent more smart shit, Chuck."

"Wow, Fitz," said Chuck, checking out a wall of computers. "This is great. Look at this stuff. This is totally state of the art. That's a DU 97 supercomputer from Roark Instruments. Fitz, she's beautiful. That's thirty teraflops of reconfigurable architecture. Wow."

"That's what they told me. It's got a module for cryptoanalysis and video processing if you need it. I leave that stuff to you guys mostly. This way."

He led them through to a corridor down one side. "Here are interrogation rooms and holding cells if you end up bringing in prisoners," he said, showing them bare rooms with plain steel tables and one-way mirrored walls. Nearby, there were single bunk cells with plexiglass sliding doors.

Down a different corridor he said, "Here's the dojo," showing them a large room with a floor made of half polished hardwood and half thick padded matting with an assortment of handheld weapons and training gear mounted along one wall. To one side there was a fencing piste taking up most of the length of the room. "There is a full gym upstairs for the use of the Studio personnel, complete with weights and whatnot. You guys will have access to that as well. But down here there are also lockers and showers and stuff, if you aren't going upstairs."

"This looks like so much fun," said Amy.

"Wait til you see this..." said Fitz, pushing buttons on a wall panel. A full-sized hologram of a man in a karate gi appeared and bowed to them. "Holographic instructor or sparring partner."

"Oh, my God. That's awesome," said Sarah.

Down a different corridor. "The armory." Row upon row of firearms and various tools of mayhem were secured on racks near an armorer's bench.

"Now we're talking," enthused Casey, stepping in to look at the weapons. "Oh, hey, you got me a Barrett."

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that, Major. You'll like this too," said Fitz, showing off a large firing range. "Soundproofed, of course." There were eye and ear protectors on hooks along the wall.

"Of course," said Amy with a smirk.

"Too short to practice with the long guns, but a decent sized pistol range," said Fitz. "Through here is an virtual reality simulation room. Put on the VR headgear, pick up one of the special guns and walk yourself through any number of simulations."

"Best video game ever," said Chuck with a huge grin. "How many players?"

With a chuckle, Fitz said, "We don't call them players..." Sarah laughed. "...but the answer is five. I've been down here with the guys, all of us together and there's easily room for one more."

"Through here is a compact medical set up. It's empty now, of course, but would be staffed by the same doctors who run the Studio clinic upstairs, as needed. If you want other IC doctors to come by, they can have access too."

He took them down a flight of steps. "Now we go downstairs. There are a half dozen guest quarters here, if there are visitors you want to keep relatively isolated, or if some of you need to stay overnight for some reason. Food would come from the Studio's commissary."

"That will be a hell of a lot better than deep fried hot dogs. This is all just great, Fitz. Will you be cohabiting with us?" asked Sarah with a smile. They went back upstairs into the main room.

"Naw. Me and the boys will be in the Studio with our new cover jobs. But we'll have access and, if you ever need us, we will be right here as back up. This is for you and your team. Graham and Beckman figured it would work a little better than operating out of your apartments. Oh, and you'll have access to the entire wardrobe set-up you saw upstairs. There's a duplicate control board down here. And, if you need disguises, there are two agents covering as make-up techs upstairs."

"I don't know whose idea this was, Fitz, but it's brilliant. Using a movie studio as a cover location for a covert intelligence team is just perfect," said Sarah. "Need to run around in tactical gear with weapons? We just tell anyone interested that it's a movie. No sweat. Helicopter landing at midnight? It's a movie. This is the perfect cover location for our operations. Just great. No matter what strange things go on, we can explain. I don't know why no one thought of it before."

"They did. The OSS thought of it seventy years ago," Casey.

"This's so cool. Thanks," said Chuck.

"Yeah, it's neat," agreed Fitz, with a grin.

"And the Studio gates upstairs?" asked Sarah.

"You are on the lists as VIPs and will get passes to get in and out of the Studio at will. There are also two entrances to Castle outside the Studio gates. If you ever want to come in that way."

"You've thought of everything," said Chuck.

"Probably not, but what we didn't think of we can add later," said Fitz. "Come on, let's get the four of you into the system." It took about an hour, but by the time they were finished all four of them would pass the facial recognition, handprint, retinal and iris scans necessary to access all the variety of security for their new headquarters. Their studio passes would be waiting for them at the main gate by the time they were ready to leave.

"I'm heading back upstairs. Give you guys some time to explore and play with your new toys."

Casey stuck out his hand, "Thanks, Fitz. You guys did good. And you managed to surprise us, so you sure can keep a secret."

As he shook Casey's hand with a smile, he said, "Well, yeah. You know. Spy and all that. But to be serious for a second, you should just know that the guys and I are honored to be part of this, we really are. To help out your team. You guys are doing great work. There's no place we'd rather be and nothing else we'd rather be doing. All of us feel exactly the same way."

They glanced at each other quickly. The team was certainly moved by what he had said. Chuck responded, "Thank you, Fitz. I speak for all of us when I say that there's no one else we'd rather have at our backs. Thank you and thank the guys for us."

The other three shook his hand and thanked him as well. Fitz left.

"I'm going to go shoot something. I haven't shot anything in a few days and my trigger finger is itchy," said Casey. He sounded eager.

"Have fun, big guy. I'm going to jump onto the computer and see what's what," said Chuck with a laugh. But before Casey left for the armory Chuck caught his eye and glanced at his watch. Casey nodded once in understanding. Chuck pulled up a rolling chair in front of a computer terminal and cracked his knuckles.

Sarah looked at Amy and said, "Fancy a workout?"

With a laugh, Amy said, "The dojo? Just like old times. Go easy on me, huh? You could always kick my ass."

As they walked down the corridor to the locker room, Chuck heard Sarah saying, laughter in her voice, "Time to up your game, girlfriend. You're playing with the big dogs now."

Chuck opened the computer for the first time and established a password. Then he spent a bit of time just looking around the system and starting to configure it to his liking. He was delighted at what he found, although not so delighted that he couldn't think of some modifications to improve the entire set-up. After exploring for a while, he remembered to check his messages and emails.

As he expected, there was an encrypted email from Ellie in DC. After she'd been brought in to the Intersect project and run him through dozens of tests, she and Devon had flown to DC as guests of the government (Devon mostly there just to keep her company). That was more than a week ago and they were still there. In that time, Ellie had thrown herself into the Intersect work being done at Fort Meade. Chuck had gotten an email from her every day with a multi-page questionnaire regarding the functioning of his brain. He decrypted the message and quickly filled in the answers on the form. Had he flashed in the last twenty-four hours? Did he have any headaches? Vision problems? How had he slept? Dreams? Dozens of questions. His sister had sternly told him that she may make him fill out the same form every day for the rest of his life, so he ought to get used to it. He returned the form and sent his love.

Nothing new from Yuri.

There was a message from Bryce, though. Chuck downloaded the picture and blew it up on a huge wall mounted screen. In the background of the photo was a bulletin board with two cards, among many, many cards on the board, with messages in Klingon. One message, translated, said, "Two more of us are gone." The other message said, "We want to get a key from the German bird." German bird? Chuck searched a translation program. "Bird" in German was "Vogel."

He ran a search of the IC's databases for Vogel and key/lock/security/entry. He came up with a man named Otto Von Vogel. He was an immigrant from Germany and a brilliant cybersecurity software engineer. He was married to the stage magician Roye Cats (originally Ralph Katzen) and lived in Los Angeles. Seems the IC had dealt with him about three years ago and acquired some software which he had developed. 'Ok,' thought Chuck. 'Better let Beckman and Graham know that Fulcrum is after something key-like from Von Vogel.'

He walked down the hall. Amy and Sarah were on the matted portion of the dojo floor. They were in shorts and tee shirts (conveniently stocked in Castle's locker rooms), wore sparring gloves and were covered with sweat. As he watched, Amy circled Sarah and came in with a front kick. Sarah moved in to block the kick and foot swept Amy, who hit the ground on her upper back and went into an immediate backroll to come out a few feet away on her feet and again facing Sarah.

"Guys," interrupted Chuck, "Message from Operation Thirty. I was going to share it with the Directors. Want to come?"

"Sure. But, what time is it?" asked Sarah.

"About four," said Chuck, glancing at his watch.

"I have to rush. I'm due at the airport to meet the Citation X crew for a walk-through of the aircraft. If the call takes too long I'll be pressed for time."

"Doesn't look like a big deal. Fulcrum wants to get some software from a guy, I think. If you have to leave early, we can finish the call and fill you in later. Don't miss the airport meeting. You've been trying to set it up for a while now."

"Ok," she said. "I'll be right out."

"Me too," said Amy, taking off the sparring gloves.

Chuck went to the other area of Castle and found Casey in the shooting range, ear protection on his ears and clear plastic glasses over his eyes. He was firing a small submachine gun. Chuck waited for the gun to lock open and empty before he said, "Hey, Case." Casey removed the ear protection. "Message from Bryce. Looks like Fulcrum is trying to get a hold of a software key from a cybersecurity guy here in LA. I was going to call the Directors. Want to come?"

"Sure, kid. Just let me put away the weapon," he said. Casey glanced at his watch. "You and I have to go in about 45 minutes or so. Might be tight."

"I know. This won't take too long, I don't think. Sarah already said that she doesn't want to be late for the meeting at the airport and we have to wait for her to leave first, anyway. We can't let her see us leave or she'll ask where we are going," said Chuck.

All four of them congregated in front of the big screen and initiated the video conference. Chuck couldn't understand how the women could go from sweaty workouts to looking spectacular in an instant. Some special female trick, he guessed. Shortly the screen came alive with Graham and Beckman.

"Hello, Directors," began Chuck. "First off, we want to thank you for our new headquarters. This place looks great and there's so much to explore. It's a helluva surprise you dropped on us. Thank you both."

"You are very welcome, Chuck, Team. We are confident that you and your team will make good use of Castle and make the investment pay off handsomely. If you need anything else in connection with it, you just let Fitz know and he'll take care of it," said Graham.

"While we are on the topic of thanks," said Beckman. "Thanks for the loan of your sister. She's already given us some vital insights for the project. Truly, Chuck, she's a force of nature. I wish we'd found her long ago. The scientists who have been on the project for years say that we've made months of progress in a week, due entirely to Dr. Bartowski. So, thank you, Chuck. Bringing her on board has been a wonderful development."

"Sure thing, General. I know she's excited about the project," said Chuck. Even Casey and Sarah looked pretty pleased at the General's praise of Ellie. "She sees tremendous potential to treat memory conditions in patients, if the tech ever gets declassified."

"Yes. I'm sure that's right. Now, what's the newest development from your end? What's come up that you reached out to us? It sounded like it was more than a thank you." asked Beckman.

"Message from Operation Thirty. Well, two messages, actually," said Chuck. "The first is 'two more of us are gone.'"

Graham looked at Beckman and said, with a sigh, "Your two missing agents in Hong Kong. They must have been taken by whoever is hunting Fulcrum. That makes four."

Beckman looked sour and said, "Yes. Four that we know of at least. Shit."

Graham said, "That's another two to put into the algorithm. Damn it."

"Sir, what is the algorithm is that?" asked Chuck.

"All the known Fulcrum members. Who have they partnered with? Who have they engaged with? Who have they reported to, or had report to them?"

"Hell," burst Beckman. "Who have they shared an elevator with? Taken a cigarette break with? Anything we can think of."

"So far it's given us nothing but speculation, though. What was the other message?" asked Graham, suddenly sounding tired.

"'We want to get a key from the German bird,'" said Chuck. "I think Fulcrum wants to obtain decryption software from Otto Von Vogel."

"Ah. Yes, that makes sense," said Graham. The news seemed to brighten Graham's mood immediately. He began to smile a little bit.

"Like the last time?" asked Beckman

"Sure."

Beckman said, "Ha. I know what you're thinking, Director. Role models?"

"Why not? They could do worse," said Graham. He was flat out smiling now.

"True enough. Where are they now?"

"I think they're in San Antonio. They can be in LA tomorrow," said Graham.

"Ummm..." said Sarah. "Who are you guys talking about?"

Graham said, "You'll see. Bit of a surprise for you all. I'm sending in the team that just dealt with Von Vogel a few years ago. Call us back tomorrow when they get there."

"Yes, Sir," she said.

"Alright, team. Enjoy your new facility." The screen went black.

"Keeping us in the dark about who they are sending. I wonder what they have up their collective sleeves?" asked Amy.

"Guess we'll find out tomorrow," said Chuck.

"Sorry, I gotta go, guys. Meeting at the airport," said Sarah.

"Ok, Sweetie," said Chuck, giving her a kiss. "See you at O'Malley's later?"

"Yup," she said. "See you guys." Sarah left Castle.

The other three members of the team waited a few moments to make sure she was gone. Then Chuck looked at his watch, "Are we cutting it close, Case?"

"Naw, kid. We'll be fine. We just have to go now. We're on the clock," said Casey.

Chuck turned to Amy and said, "I don't mean to exclude you..."

"Forget it, Chuck. This is clearly a guy thing. Go for it. I'll see you guys later at the bar." She giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, bouncing on her toes a bit. "I'm really excited. Good luck, boys."

"Thanks," said Chuck with a nervous grin. "See you later."

Chuck and Casey went up in the elevator and through the office building to the parking lot where Casey had left the Crown Vic. They stopped at the main gate and picked up their badges for Studio access.

Chuck fidgeted as they drove.

Casey said, "Calm down, Moron. You're making me nervous."

"Sorry," he said, but didn't stop fidgeting.

They arrived at the right address and parked the car. Morgan was waiting for them in front of the store, pacing impatiently. "I thought you were going to be late."

Casey said, "Chill out, Numbnuts. I had him. I wasn't going to blow it." Turning to Chuck, he said, "You ready?"

"I guess so." He took a deep breath and rubbed his palms on the legs of his pants.

"Ok. Let's do this," said Casey, patting him on the shoulder. The three men went inside the store. The large sign in front announced LANDAU'S FINE JEWELRY.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N4: In the fall and early winter of 2018, I had occasion to spend some time in Burbank, California. While there, I took a tour of the Warner Brothers Studios facilities. I had just binge watched the entire Chuck series and had begun to write New Day. I remember thinking that, as our heroes lived and worked in Burbank, they would pass that Studio every day and look up at the famous water tower with the WB logo. I think locating Castle here makes way more logical sense than somehow creating from scratch a secret spy base under the Buy More. (Having said that, I understand that the showrunners didn't want to leave the Buy More behind. I have no such compunction.) I also think this change to canon opens up a myriad of new story possibilities and twists.

A/N5: The Intelligence Community and the ownership of businesses. Yeah, well, the two examples Casey and Sarah gave Chuck are true. The airline Air America was owned by the CIA from 1950 until 1976. The movie production company was described in Tony Mendez' book Argo (2012) and the subsequent Ben Affleck movie of the same name (also 2012). Mr. Mendez, who died in 2019, was a legend in the Agency. Furthermore, it was recently (2020) revealed that the CIA and the German BND co-owned a Swiss computer security company for decades and used its access and equipment to spy on that company's customers. Standard operating procedure, it seems.

A/N6: I've been generally pretty good about keeping to a steady posting schedule for New Day. I don't feel I can promise that right now. My city, thank goodness, seems to have passed the worst of the virus crisis (although at a terrible cost in lost lives), but I am still too distracted by real life to give our story the sustained attention it deserves. I have more coming, that I can promise, but I can't say when. Those of you who stick with me...thanks. You are the reason I write. Stay safe, my friends. Please.


End file.
